


The Adventures of Pocahontas and John Rolfe: Book I

by ncfwhitetigress



Category: Pocahontas (1995)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Disney, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 11:39:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 204,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1686971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ncfwhitetigress/pseuds/ncfwhitetigress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Book I picks up where the sequel left off. Pocahontas and John Rolfe are on the ship back to Virginia, hoping to spend the rest of their lives together in peace. What they stumble upon instead are a series of adventures and misadventures. Together, they discover that the road to happily-ever-after is paved with many more obstacles than they could have ever imagined. Characters and universe owned by Disney.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Blood Draw

The sunlight lingered on the horizon as the English ship sailed through calm waters, heading westward. The peace was broken again when Meeko loosed his stomach contents over the bow for the fifth or sixth time. Pocahontas looked concerned, as her furry friend was getting thinner and thinner by the day. The raccoon normally had quite a large appetite but he seemed repelled of food lately.

John Rolfe walked up behind Pocahontas. He had a look of concern on his face as he placed a hand on her shoulder, gently alerting her to his presence. “He’ll be alright, Pocahontas,” he said. “We’ll make landfall any day now.”

It was late summer and the winds had been unusually kind throughout the journey. Storms had been frequent but relatively minor. It seemed that some supernatural force was smiling upon them during the return voyage. Pocahontas still felt impatient about the length of it though. She just wanted to get home.

Pocahontas turned to glance at Rolfe and smiled lightly. His voice had been her only source of reassurance for the last few months, helping her stave off the unbearable homesickness. She had had no one to talk to regularly on the trip to England, as her brother-in-law Uttamatomakkin had taken an unexplained oath of silence until the beginning of the summer season. She suspected it had something to do with a lost bet but was not inclined to comment on the subject.

When Meeko’s stomach seemed to calm a bit, he went back to moping miserably around the lower deck. Pocahontas twiddled her fingers as she tried to think of how to express her concerns from the last three months. She and Rolfe had not discussed the future, despite sharing numerous romantic kisses since the dawn of the voyage. The magical M-word had never come up.

_Marriage_ … Pocahontas thought to herself. She wondered why he had not asked her yet. Maybe he did not really intend to marry her. The discordant thought dwelled in the pit of her stomach as she stared down at the frothing saltwater. She was afraid to voice the question because the thought of rejection was intolerable. Plus, was it even considered proper for a woman to bring the subject up first?

On the other hand, Pocahontas was charmed by John Rolfe’s clear intention not to dishonor her. They had separate cabins on the ship and his advances on her had not gone beyond kissing on the hand, cheek, and lips, and hugging. His attraction to her was clear yet he maintained a perfect gentlemanly distance. If he struggled to maintain self-control at all, he hid it expertly. In fact, the man seemed to be such a jumble of contradictions that it frequently confused Pocahontas. He wore his heart on his sleeve at times but at others his thoughts were impressively well guarded. Pocahontas desperately wondered what was going on in his head at such times.

As Pocahontas was absorbed in her thoughts, the diplomat gently lifted her chin and kissed her for the umpteenth time that day. She kissed him back almost passionately before she remembered it wise to hold back. As they pulled apart, the word “John…” slipped from her lips before she could stop it.

It was not the name itself but the tone with which she had said it that led Rolfe to the realization she had something serious on her mind—other than Meeko’s wellbeing, of course. He held one of her slighter hands in both of his as he politely inquired, “What’s the matter, my dear?”

She softly pulled away and placed her hands on the railing of the ship. Hesitant at first, she finally managed to follow up with a reply. “I was just wondering… what’s going to happen when we get back to my homeland?” she murmured.

Rolfe smiled widely. “I’m glad you asked, Pocahontas,” he said, pulling the king’s sealed order out of his satchel. He tapped himself on the forehead with it and then pointed it at her. “We are going to forge a lasting peace, is what we’re going to do. No more of this troubling instability in the relations between your people and the settlers. The laws laid out in this document will ensure that.” He finished and smiled broadly as if he had answered her question to perfection.

To Rolfe’s surprise, Pocahontas frowned. She was well aware of the plan. She had watched the king’s scribe draft the order herself, just as she had watched James add his beautifully embellished signature and royal seal to it. That was when the obvious occurred to Rolfe. “Oh,” he murmured, flushing slightly as he glanced down at the deck. He poked his fingers together nervously. “You meant… beyond that?”

When Pocahontas nodded coyly, Rolfe cleared his throat. “Right, right. Well, my dear. That all depends upon your father,” he explained, trying to sound affirmative. When he saw her frown again, he mirrored the expression. “Not confident he’ll say yes, are you?”

Pocahontas shrugged. “I don’t know. If he said no, I don’t know what I’d do.” She leaned her elbows down on the tall railing and ran her hands through her long hair.

“Not to worry,” Rolfe replied, sticking the king’s document back in his satchel. “For I have a plan.” Pocahontas looked up at him with a quizzical expression. “It’s not foolproof,” he added for good measure, “but it should increase our chances significantly.”

Pocahontas turned to face him fully, interested. He took hold of her hand again as he spoke. “I propose that when we get there, we do not mention this at first. It would be wise to give your father time to get used to my presence, get to know me a little more. Then after a while, when peace has been established and we feel more confident about his response, I’ll go ask him if I can marry you. I think the key is patience, my dear. A great deal of patience. Besides, the Rolfe family has a tradition of long engagements going back centuries. It’s in our blood.”

Pocahontas suppressed the urge to frown a third time. Patience was not her strong suit, it never had been. But she gave Rolfe a forced smile regardless to show her confidence in his idea, if nothing else. At least they were on the same page now. She was enormously relieved to discover that he did in fact have every intention to make her his wife, if her people allowed it. Hundreds of other resultant questions bubbled up in her brain but it was too early to ask or even ponder extensively on them. They needed a yes or no from the great chief first, or it would all be for naught.

Flit emerged from the cabins below and darted around them to the starboard side of the ship. Forming in the distance was a heavy mass of clouds, brought to their attention by the small ruby-throated hummingbird’s sudden arrival. Flit seemed to intuitively sense the coming storm from inside the ship and he zipped around frantically to assess the situation. It was not a good sign. Rolfe and Pocahontas saw a flash of light beneath the formation, followed by a deep but distant rumbling.

“Looks like we’re going to have a spot of rain,” Rolfe said nonchalantly. His attempt at making light of the situation failed as he saw the muscles in Pocahontas’s throat contract.

Overhearing the conversation, Captain Blackwell strutted over. “Is that not the understatement of the week, Mr. Rolfe? Looks like we’re in for some rough weather, indeed,” he said with a chuckle, flicking out his pocket telescope. “Aye,” he murmured as he observed the approaching storm through the polished lens. “We won’t be able to outpace her. She’s comin’ in fast.”

“Nonsense, captain. Don’t worry, Pocahontas. These are some of the finest sailors England has to offer. I’m sure they can steer us through any maelstrom the sea might whip up,” Rolfe countered, crossing his arms defiantly.

“I thank you your confidence, Mr. Rolfe. We’ll do our best, that’s for certain,” Blackwell replied. He plodded down to the lower deck and shouted a bunch of orders at the crew. The sailors spurred to life and shuffled around to prepare the ship as fast as possible.

“Come along, dear. Let’s get down below before the rain starts,” Rolfe said, taking a gentle hold of Pocahontas’s arm.

For a moment Pocahontas did not respond as she stared into the dark belly of the storm. The wind whipped her hair into a frenzy, though she hardly noticed as she barely mouthed the words, “ _Angry spirits_ …”

Rolfe was forced to hold onto his red hat to prevent the powerful gust from tearing it away. He gave Pocahontas a quizzical look, and waved his hand in front of her face to get her attention. “Pocahontas, dear? Are you alright?”

Pocahontas blinked in surprise and turned to John Rolfe as she snapped out of her stupor. “Yes, I think so,” she replied, a bit shaken. She felt like she had almost had a vision and that concerned her. But there was no sense in worrying about something she could do nothing about, so she hurriedly followed John Rolfe down below as the first heavy droplets began to slap the deck of the ship.

…

Pocahontas and Rolfe hunkered down in the mess deck to await the storm’s passing. The common areas were far from stunning for a simple supply ship. While their private cabins were rather nice due to Rolfe’s social status, he refused to spend time with her in them lest harmful rumors concerning their relationship crop up (God forbid such rumors should make it back to the chief of the Powhatan tribe).

The cabin boy brought them mugs of ale though neither were particular fans of the beverage. As the voyage neared its end, the ship had run out of fresh water. Hopefully more would be caught in the new rainstorm above.

While Meeko was out for the count in Pocahontas’s cabin, Percy and Flit were glad to provide them company for the ride. The two came into the room, relieved that the place was mostly empty for once. Sailors shuffled around up above, their footsteps rattling the planks now and again. As it turned out, the mess deck could be a nice place without a lot of drunken crewmen singing loudly and stepping on tails and paws.

Rolfe stared into his mug of ale with a slight look of dissatisfaction on his face. He had half a mind to go back up top and stare up at the sky with his mouth open for some water but he knew he would look silly. Plus he did not wish to distract the sailors.

Pocahontas pushed her mug away, yawning. “I think I’m going to turn in early,” she murmured, rubbing her eyes. She was unusually exhausted. Anticipating the return home with glee, they had stayed up late the night before talking about everything from their respective childhoods, to fairytales, to the English art of stage acting.

“I’ll probably follow you soon enough,” Rolfe replied, trying to take another sip of the acrid beverage. He gave up and pushed it away. If it were not for the distracting rocking of the ship, he would have gone back to his cabin to pen more into his journals. As he had requested to return to Virginia, King James had given him a new but important duty. He was to observe, record, and draw anything and everything in the New World for placement into the prestigious royal archives.

It seemed that if James had to send one of the most educated men in his kingdom to a small trading colony for keeps, he still preferred to make use of him in whatever ways possible. Hence Rolfe was to become an archivist. It was not a bad proposition as the diplomat had always enjoyed writing and drawing in his spare time. So far, he had recorded to the T the stories Pocahontas had told him about the mythology of her people. He had drawn her, as well as Meeko and Flit, and was looking forward to all the fascinating flora and fauna he was sure to find in Virginia.

Unfortunately the motion of the big storm waves did not help to steady his hand. He could not even read a book or he would develop a headache in due time. Rolfe sighed and forced a bit more of the ale down to keep hydrated before getting up. He almost fell on his rump as another wave crashed into the side of the ship, sending him stumbling about. He grabbed a hold of the nearby doorframe to regain his footing and clumsily made his way up the stairs. It would not be a bad idea to check on the storm status with the crew.

…

Back in her cabin, Pocahontas settled into bed. While she normally found English mattresses uncomfortable, the stormy waves had a way of rocking her to sleep. Her discussion with Rolfe had somehow taken her mind off of her worries and made her feel more reassured of his devotion, so it did not take long for her to drift off.

She imagined the days ahead when the tensions between the settlers and natives would hopefully vanish for good. In a colorful whirlwind, she found herself back in the carefree days of her childhood before her mother’s untimely death. Standing by the calm waters of her village, she viewed her reflection as that of a ten-year-old girl. She leaned down and touched the surface of the water with a finger to see if it felt real and it did. As the ripples grew outward, a second face appeared in the water behind her.

“Wasn’t there something you wanted to show me, Pocahontas?” Rolfe inquired, leaning over and giving her an odd look on account of her fascination with the ripples. He was about the same age as she, a realistic version of the young lad in the paintings she had seen in the full-grown man’s London townhouse. She looked up at him and he smiled down at her. “You said you wanted to show me something,” he said in a boyish voice.

Pocahontas giggled and splashed John, earning some laughter from him. She stood up and grabbed him, intent on dragging him off to play. He followed quite readily, running after her through the groves and the forest. In the heart of the summer, the two children rolled in the grass, swam in the river, played in the gully, climbed trees, and ate fresh berries. They even played some of Pocahontas’s favorite games, such as Hunter’s Trap, the Tricky Fox, and the Adventures of Okee. John played the hero of course, while Pocahontas enjoyed the more mischievous roles.

At the end of every day, Pocahontas routinely ended up at the Enchanted Glade. This day was no different. She climbed up the gnarled roots, glancing over her shoulder to see that John was following. “Where are we going now?” he asked.

“I want to introduce you to someone,” Pocahontas said, pulling him up once she had reached the top of the stump.

“But there’s nobody here except us,” John replied, looking around as he reached the top. The sounds of the forest stopped and the birds fell silent just before a gust of wind gave Pocahontas an unexpected chill.

When she turned to face Grandmother Willow, the old tree spirit’s face appeared in the bark as expected. Instead of the kind expression she usually wore however, the face looked terrified. _“Pocahontas, wake up! You are in danger, child!”_ Grandmother Willow cried as the sky turned blood red through the canopy leaves.

Pocahontas’s heart thundered as she looked at John, who was equally frightened as her, and grabbed a hold of him. They held onto each other as the earth began to quake. Both cried out in terror. A frightful wind fueled by angry spirits blew again, whipping Rolfe’s hair around as his face morphed into its adult form.

The Englishman shook her awake. “Pocahontas, wake up! We’re under attack!” Rolfe cried, pulling her out of bed.

Pocahontas felt her heart pounding in her chest as she awoke. “Wha… what’s going on?” she slurred in a state of grogginess. She found herself whisked up off the floor into his strong arms as he carried her out of the room—Meeko, Percy, and Flit in hot pursuit.

“Pirates, Pocahontas! It’s the _Blood Draw_. There’s too many of them and we can’t fight. We have only one chance to survive but you’ll have to do precisely as I say and without question. Remember what I told you about English stage acting?” Rolfe coached as her ears fully awoke to the sounds of swords clashing above. Men screamed and men howled in wicked laughter. One side was losing and John apparently knew which.

Before Pocahontas knew it, John Rolfe had carried her all the way down to the empty brig on the lowest level of the ship. He placed her and her bare feet on the chilly, wet, muddy floor and dropped a large bag he had been carrying on his back beside him, ruffling through it frantically. Pocahontas shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. She had fallen asleep in her buckskin dress though she had kicked off her moccasins. Rolfe pushed her arms up over her head as he produced a dreaded garment—a corset.

“I know you hate these, my dear, but we have to make you look as much like a man as possible. Which is not going to my easy, I’m afraid,” Rolfe informed her. He wrapped the item around her torso. Instead of tightening it around her waist to accentuate her femininity however, he tightened it quite a bit around her breasts and left her waist relatively loose. He wrapped her behind as well with a separate binding before pulling a shirt and a pair of trousers out of his sack. “Put these on. Quickly,” he said.

Pocahontas did as John Rolfe asked, almost falling over herself in the rush to get the men’s clothing on. He readily assisted her by holding her upright. “It’s alright, dear. The fight is still going on. They won’t be raiding the lower levels for a few minutes still,” he reassured her. When the trousers were up, Rolfe helped her slip the shirt over her head. He tucked it in a bit around her waist, leaving some hanging in the back, and shoved her bare feet into oversized men’s boots. “Alright. The thing I have to do next is probably something you’re not going to like. Pocahontas,” he said, turning her to face him. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut off your hair.”

Pocahontas gasped, taking a hold of the black mane that she had grown so fond of over the years. Would Rolfe still think her beautiful without it? The anxiety grew like a sickness in the pit of her stomach but her fear of the attackers overwhelmed it by far. She gulped deeply and, with tears in her eyes, nodded. Rolfe pivoted her around without hesitation. She could hear him draw his blade and felt his hand twist her hair into a firm knot. Before she knew it, her head felt light as a feather. She turned around to see him toss the ebony locks, sword, and sheath into a privy barrel, effectively hiding the evidence where no one would look.

John Rolfe returned to Pocahontas’s side. “Now give me your necklace. I’ll put it with the king’s order for safe-keeping.” She did as he asked and he stuck the treasured item into the satchel, hiding the satchel itself below a loose floorboard. The screams from above had finally ceased and the clatter of footsteps and hoots of victory could be heard invading the lower levels of the ship.

John Rolfe turned to Pocahontas with a slightly alarmed expression. “They’re coming. It’s time for your first serious acting lesson, Pocahontas,” he said as he shoved her into one of the cells, closing the iron bolt behind them.

She heard a rip as he tore his own fine silk collar in two and then observed as he bent down to gather some of the filthy, muddy mess off the floor. He smeared it all over his face and clothes. “These pirates are sworn enemies of the English. We are prisoners of the ship, traitors to the throne of King James. We hate him and we want him dead. You are the son of Powhatan, sent back to the colonies to be executed in sight of your father as an opening act of war. I’m to be executed as well for assisting you. When the pirates arrive, we give them a hero’s welcome. We beg parlay and ask the captain permission to join his crew,” he said, gathering more mud and smearing it on her this time.

Rolfe continued, “Now we need to look as dirty and ill-treated as possible. Put on your most miserable, wretched face. Remember, you are a man. So choose a man’s name from your tribe and introduce yourself as such. We can pretend your English is poor so you do not have to do much of the talking. If you witness brutality, even against me, you must do whatever it takes not to cry out, or even flinch. At the first chance we have, we’ll escape the pirates and search for a ship back to Virginia. Understood?”

“John, I don’t know if I can!” Pocahontas cried, her knees trembling.

“Yes, you can. I _know_ you can. You can do anything. If you can convince a powerful monarch that peace is the right path, then there’s nothing you cannot do,” he countered, gathering her remaining hair and forcing it into a dirty hat. He stood back and observed her. “Hm. Well, if not a man, you could certainly pass as a young boy. Fourteen to seventeen, perhaps,” he noted. “That should take a bit of the pressure off of you, darling. Now, let’s sit. Let me do the talking. I’ve had more practice with theatrics.”

“What about Meeko, Percy, and Flit? Will they be killed?” Pocahontas suddenly inquired, the fear returning.

“Not likely,” Rolfe quickly replied, settling next to her. “They usually take animals as pets or sell them—especially exotic ones. It’s our own skins we need to worry about.”

Pocahontas gulped but nodded. The three animals in the room did the same.

Boisterous noise could be heard just outside the door. “They’re coming! Get ready!” John instructed. Pocahontas stooped down to look as much like a lethargic, underfed, hopeless prisoner as possible. Flit made himself scarce—his small size giving him a notable advantage. Meanwhile Meeko squeezed through the bars and copied Pocahontas’s demeanor. Percy, on the other hand, just hid in an empty barrel, whimpering slightly.

…

The door shuddered moments before two menacing men burst into the room followed by two others bearing lanterns. “Aye, what have we here, then?” came a sinister voice. Looking up, Rolfe recognized the speaker immediately from the horrifying tales of the man’s deeds as they had been told in London. Word had it that since the _Blood Draw_ did not leave survivors, some of the boldest crew members had taken it upon themselves to be seen in the flesh on occasion so that rumors would abound. They staked their cutthroat careers on their reputations. Finley Flame was one of these vile men.

Plain old ‘Flame’ was the hideous quartermaster’s fabled nickname, on account of the burn injury he proudly bore scarring half his face. It had also robbed him of half a head of Irish-red hair but he made no attempt to cover the disfigurement. On the gnarled side of his face, his ice-blue right eye leered at them in a predatory manner and sent a shiver down Pocahontas’s spine.

Rolfe uttered a feigned gasp and climbed weakly to his feet, the look of surprise on his face eerily convincing. “Sir, can it be that we are in the honored presence of Finley Flame, legendary quartermaster of the _Blood Draw_?” the Englishman uttered, appearing star-struck as he clung to the prison bars.

The fiend could scarcely suppress a flattered grin. “Aye. That you are, lad. Heard of me, have you? And who might you be? You have the appearance of British gentry. What is a man of your stature doing muddied and miserable in the deep, dark brig?” the man inquired, a sure tone of curiosity in his rasping voice.

John Rolfe lowered his eyes in a feigned look of shame. “Please, sir. Do not remind me of the life of delusion I lived. I am a traitor to the English throne. My companion and I,” Rolfe gestured to the copper-skinned ‘boy’ on the floor, “were to be shipped back to the colonies for public execution. He is the son of a great chief with whom King James of England intends to make battle. James wanted the boy executed within sight of his father as a commencing act of war. I sided with the boy and was deemed a traitor.”

“And your name?” Flame inquired, sheathing his sword. The three mangy accomplices followed suit—a good omen, thought Rolfe.

“John Rolfe, sir. Or it was. Perhaps I should change it as I no longer honor my origins,” Rolfe replied. “Might I humbly request a parlay with the great Captain Bleud? If he sees fit to spare our unworthy lives, we would be eager to join the crew. We will work hard as we want nothing more than to wreak havoc on the damned English. How we envy your liberated lifestyle cannot be expressed in words, my dear man.”

Flame shifted a hand through his short scraggly red beard, considering the request. The hesitation was only a show—Rolfe could tell the plan had already succeeded, at least with these four. Even in his request for parlay, the diplomat had played all his cards right. Most captives that were not killed straightaway outright demanded the right of parlay, thus insulting their lower-ranking hosts. Rolfe humbled himself before a man he despised in order to win his favor and indeed he had. All they had left to do now was convince the barbarous captain himself.

“Very well, lad. I’ll take you to see the captain but I should like to know the Indian prince’s name first, if it is pronounceable,” Flame replied, observing the ‘boy’ with a look of dark curiosity.

“Come along, lad,” Rolfe said in an enthusiastic voice, turning to Pocahontas. He offered her a hand, which she took, and subsequently gasped slightly as he hauled her to her feet with a jolt. He was treating her like another male and she was unaccustomed to the lack of delicacy. However she followed his lead and suppressed her surprise as much as possible for the sake of survival.

“Me, Tomtom,” Pocahontas said in a deeper than normal voice, going along with John Rolfe’s idea to pretend her English was poor. As Rolfe had suggested, she preferred to speak as little as possible. She had never in her life been in such a situation as this and it was more than a little terrifying.

“Tomtom, eh?” Flame echoed.

Rolfe nodded, hiding his relief at how well Pocahontas had taken to the role. “Yes, Prince Tomtom. Still learning his English,” he noted, “but he’s a clever lad nonetheless. He’ll catch on soon enough, rest assured.”

One of the other pirates, a bald man with a massive scar running diagonally down his face, was the next to speak. The bridge of his nose appeared to have been sheared in half at one point, making his voice sound slightly nasal. “I like it,” he said. “Nice and short.”

Flame nodded. “Aye, a good name it is. Sounds almost like a Thomas, does it not?”

Rolfe smiled. “Indeed, it does.”

“And that strange creature, what is it?” Flame inquired, pointing to Meeko.

Rolfe looked down, surprised. “Oh, that is something called a ‘raccoon.’ It is from Tomtom’s native land. Look at the bands around its eyes. Would make a lovely bandit or pirate, don’t you think? It’s a very clever type of animal, almost like a monkey!”

Flame leaned over to get a better look. “Yes, I should certainly like to show it to the captain at some point,” he murmured. “However it does not look so well. Is the beast ill?” the quartermaster inquired, poking at Meeko’s rump through the bars with the tip of his boot. Meeko shifted a bit but was too lethargic to react much.

“A bit of food poisoning is all. The wretched crew tried to feed us a bowl of spoiled oysters that they didn’t want. Tomtom and I were wise enough not to eat it but the animal was very hungry. However raccoons are known to be quite hardy. He should most certainly recover in due time,” Rolfe replied.

“Right then,” Flame announced, turning to one of his shipmates. “Spike-Eyes, bring me the cell keys. We are to parlay these unfortunate prisoners with the captain immediately.”

The origin of the aforementioned man’s name was no mystery—for he bore what looked like numerous large rose thorns pierced through the skin around his eyes. He was the tallest one there and the most muscular and fierce-looking. Spike-Eyes muttered not a syllable and turned to go carry out the quartermaster’s order.

When they were freed from the brig, Flame slung an arm roughly around John Rolfe’s neck in a chummy manner, pulling the slightly taller man’s head down to his level. He tousled the young Englishman’s hair. “Should Captain Bleud consent to your design, lad, I should like to take you under my wing. Your smooth face be far too unmarred for a man over twenty on road to the pirate’s life. I’ll help roughen ye a bit so the other men won’t eat you up alive and spit you out again.”

Rolfe blushed. “That would be much appreciated,” he replied hesitantly, trying to suppress a nervous impulse. 

Pocahontas frowned slightly. She did not like to see Flame manhandling Rolfe’s face, clapping him on the cheek as he did in a fraternal gesture. Though Rolfe seemed to be handling the treatment just fine, Pocahontas was far from enthused at the thought of his face becoming any less ‘unmarred.’ She felt a seed of anxiety well up in her stomach as they climbed the stairs to the upper levels of the captured ship.

Flame chitchatted with Rolfe on the way up, explaining the rules of the pirate’s life to the two of them. In the process, Pocahontas learned that the fearsome Captain Bleud was just above at the helm. The realization that they would meet him in the flesh any minute forced her to focus. Their lives depended upon his response to their request, so she would have to be at the top of her game.

…

The boisterous noise of drunken men grew louder as they neared the deck. Flame hurrahed as they emerged up top, joining the pirates’ victory chant. It was then that Pocahontas spotted the burly man, a pirate who stood above all the rest at the helm. She could see cruelty in his eyes to a degree others could not and her blood ran cold. She glanced over at Rolfe, who did not appear to be outwardly afraid.

Suddenly the smell hit her—the scent of blood was thick in the air and she felt a sticky liquid tack under the oversized boots Rolfe had given her. The nausea was almost unbearable though she felt relieved that the pirates had not left the bodies lying around. She guessed they had been chucked overboard. Still the planks ran red so she kept her gaze up from the deck and gritted her teeth against the stench.

If it were not for a microscopic flinch in Rolfe’s brow, Pocahontas would have thought him indifferent to the bloodshed. It so appeared that he was more practiced at guarding his features than she could have ever imagined. It was a skill that seemed to be present in many Englishmen of the upper crust, forced upon them by society.

Pocahontas sighed as they were led through the crowd toward the marauding leader. The lot of pirates turned one by one to look at them—at first with surprise, then with scheming curiosity. It was not until they had almost reached the helm that the captain saw them. His bosun was a tall, angular beast of a man who noted their presence first and tapped Bleud on the shoulder, pointing them out to the gruff commander.

The bosun held Pocahontas’s attention the longest. She had never seen a man of his kind before, for his skin was many shades darker even than hers. As she got closer, it became apparent that he was dark as the night itself. He wore no shirt and his ebony flesh glistened with sweat from the victorious battle. Scars that Pocahontas could not identify the origin of—white streaks— lined his back, chest, and shoulders. Almost as tall as Uttamatomakkin, he had a frightful, solemn demeanor. He was neither old nor young. Perhaps he was in his mid-thirties, she thought. His eyes seemed to be able to pierce armor and Pocahontas had to suppress the urge to tremble under his intent gaze.

She shot a glance at John, who was still talking amicably with Flame. He seemed to notice the dark man’s presence but was not taken aback. Perhaps he had seen such people before. Either that or he was concealing his surprise. Pocahontas had no way to know.

“Halt!” Bleud abruptly ordered, stirring the pirate crew to silence.

Pocahontas and Rolfe stopped in an instant and the quartermaster stepped forward to introduce them. Flame bowed to the captain in a flourishing gesture. The formality seemed to serve the sole purpose of making the crew laugh and they did quite loudly. “Captain Bleud, it turns out Blackwell had a few prisoners down in the brig, both destined for execution in the colonies. Allow me to introduce John Rolfe, traitor to the English throne, and Prince Tomtom of an Injun tribe. As sworn enemies of King James, they have humbly requested a parlay with ye.”

Flame’s announcement had snapped Pocahontas out of her fixation with the hard-faced bosun. She began to observe the other crew members as well. They seemed to be a mix of  different races, though the vast majority were white or close to it. The bosun’s appearance was by far the strangest she had yet seen, however. Despite their differences, the men seemed to have formed a unique culture all their own.

Pocahontas’s fear tempered her curiosity. These were not good people. Now she knew precisely why Rolfe had turned her into a ‘man’ and dread struck her heart like a burning arrow. She knew she truly had to keep up the appearance and she had to keep it up well if she hoped to survive unharmed amongst the crew.

“Request accepted,” Bleud replied. Pocahontas thought she heard a quiet sigh of relief coming from John Rolfe. She was glad that the Englishman’s face was obscured from the bosun’s piercing gaze in that instant. The moment ended quickly when Flame stepped aside to allow the ‘prisoners’ to come forward.

Rolfe stepped up first, followed by Pocahontas. She stayed slightly back, though not enough for her timidity to be noticeable. She watched as the Englishman cordially removed his muddied red hat and held it to his chest. “Great captain, the tales of your unimagined deeds reached us in the Tower of London even before our sentencing. Never did I think I would have the privilege to meet you in person. As your quartermaster mentioned, my name is—or was—John Rolfe. Prince Tomtom and I would like to request to join your crew if you’ll have us. We are willing to work very hard. We want nothing more than to wreak vengeance on the English. Isn’t that right, Tomtom?”

Pocahontas bowed her head in an affirmative manner, something she had seen Uttamatomakkin do countless times. She decided her stoic brother-in-law would be her model for the man’s role she was playing. It made sense—the less she spoke, the less likely she would be to give anything away. 

“Hmm,” Bleud replied, his face betraying no conclusions. He licked his chapped lips as he considered the appeal. Observing him, Pocahontas noticed numerous beads and feathers woven into the dark brown hair on his face. His skin was darker than the average white man’s too. She wondered if he could be a racial hybrid of some sort. “How do I know I can trust ye, my boy? I’ve got a good many enemies as it were,” he finally said.

“Understood, sir. Perhaps only time will allow us to prove our devotion. Again, I am not opposed to a bit of backbreaking labor if that’s what you require of me,” Rolfe replied. “As a full-grown man I should be able to handle a good bit of work.” He gestured to Pocahontas. “I request you go a bit easier on the lad though. We would not want to stunt his growth. His father is a very tall and very powerful warrior and Tomtom has much potential given just a few short years. Currently he is no older than fifteen and cannot handle a man’s full workload just yet.”

Pocahontas felt a bit bothered by Rolfe’s last statement even though she knew perfectly well that his only intent was to protect her from these brutes. But if only he knew the labor involved in corn cultivation, he might think otherwise about her capabilities.

Pocahontas figured if she really pushed herself, she might be able to impress him with just what she could ‘handle.’ She felt the fire of determination enliven her veins and stood staunchly before the pirate captain and his crew. She would show John Rolfe that she was not helpless in the face of adversity. It was not just about her pride though—she did not want Rolfe to have to bear the full burden of their predicament alone.

Bleud was silent for a moment following Rolfe’s promises but his blackened teeth suddenly showed up in an ominous grin. “I’ve got a better idea, my boy.” Rolfe perked up, his face a mix of interest and apprehension. The pirate captain gave Pocahontas a start when he abruptly howled into the crowd, “BRING FORTH THE PRISONER!”

A battered man was dragged from the throng, a handkerchief gag across his mouth. As his dazed head bobbed about, Pocahontas was tempted to look away. It was clear the bloodied sailor had been tortured to some degree though she knew not why. She vaguely recognized him as a rude low-ranked crewman from whom she had heard the word ‘savage’ muttered more than a few times. Despite his treatment of her, she sensed the depth of his pain and pitied him for it.

“If you’ve the gall to join me crew, lad, then kill the scum. We’ve had our fun with ‘im, now he’s all yours,” Bleud explained. Unsheathing his sword, he tossed it deftly by the hilt to Rolfe who readily caught it.

Pocahontas almost gasped as the full weight of the order sank in. She saw John Rolfe’s Adam’s apple bob in apprehension as he set eyes on the razor-sharp blade in his grasp. It was clear the Englishman had never killed anyone before. Rolfe held his face firm but Pocahontas could tell his skin was gathering a thin sheet of sweat.

After Rolfe got over the initial shock, he quickly and loudly cleared his throat. “Right then!” He deftly spun the sword around in his hand, bringing the tip to rest by the unfortunate sailor’s jugular. As desperately as he tried to keep his hand from trembling, Pocahontas’s sharp eyes noticed the slightest of quivers.

_Is he really going to do it?_ Pocahontas wondered, unable to stop herself from sweating as well. Worse yet, what would she think of him if he did? Would she ever be able to see him the same way again? The fear was most profound, a deep dark beast lurking in the abyss that she had not sensed until now. Was not the real measure of a man what he would do when pushed to the brink?

_“I want to see your killer instinct,”_ Bleud hissed as Rolfe sucked in a breath. The beaten captive’s eyes shot open and he looked directly at Pocahontas. The sailor had to look her up and down a few times before recognition dawned in his visage.

Pocahontas gritted her teeth in fear as she saw him draw his brows together, shaking off the gag. “Hold on a minute, that’s not a—” The man’s sentence was cut short as John Rolfe buried a knee deep in his solar plexus, knocking the breath clean out of his lungs. He keeled over and fell to the deck with a thump, wheezing.

Pocahontas gasped as Rolfe turned his head and his eyes instantly met hers. The man’s green orbs expressed volumes that she knew he could not say aloud. He would not let this man expose her. If he had to be cruel in order to do that, he would be.

Members of the crew chuckled at the show of violence and Rolfe turned away from Pocahontas to face Captain Bleud. “Forgive me, sir. I admit I am a bit disappointed. I had a beef with this man throughout the voyage and feel that a quick death is far too merciful for a _louse_ such as this. But,” he sighed, “if you wish me to kill him quickly, I suppose I must. You are the one in charge after—”

**POW!**

A loud gunshot went off. Rolfe yelped and jumped back, bringing his free hand to his chest to still his racing heart as he stared down at the prisoner. The English sailor in front of him teetered on his knees as a long rivulet of dark liquid oozed down his forehead. A few delayed seconds later the man fell facedown to the reddened planks. He was dead.

Bleud drew his brows together in annoyance. “Who did that?” he snapped, peering from pirate to pirate in search of the guilty party.

A cracked voice came from the crowd, “Sorry, cap’n. Me finger slipped.” It was a dirty blond man with a fake wooden foot. Suddenly—THUD!—a pirate directly across from the murdered sailor hit the ground as well.

Pocahontas’s jaw hung open. Two men killed by one bullet and the captain did not seem to take either as more than an inconvenience—even though one of the victims was his own man. He turned to the swarthy man at his side. “Bosun, three lashes for Goldilocks.”

The blond pirate’s shoulders fell slightly. _“Well alright then…”_ he murmured pitifully as Bleud turned back to address the crew.

“Alrighty, men. Toss ‘em overboard,” Bleud commanded. “No use crying o’er spilt blood, I always say. Mr. Rolfe, I’m sorry the idiot stole your kill. You can have his rum ration tonight, if ye like,” the man graciously offered.

Rolfe’s shock at the unexpected turn of events dissipated upon hearing this. “Does that mean we’re in, captain?” he nearly stuttered out.

“Aye, I need a replacement for ol’ Stump-Foot there,” Bleud said, gesturing to the dead pirate as the men chucked the body over the railing. “You’ll be doing the riggings.”

Rolfe felt his stomach twist. The order made him extremely nervous as the rigging jobs were the most dangerous on the ship. It would not be easy for Rolfe at all as he had a terrible fear of heights. But if working the rigging was what he had to do to keep Pocahontas safe, then he would. Fortunately, due to reading and observation, he felt he had enough knowledge of the riggings to do the job right. He would just have to be extra careful not to slip—he had to stay alive for Pocahontas’s sake. _I just won’t look down…_ he told himself, though the fear churned like a miniature maelstrom in the pit of his stomach. He gathered himself outwardly and gave Bleud a firm nod. “Aye, sir.”

“As for the Injun,” Bleud continued. “We lost our cabin boy a while back. We’ll be needing a replacement and he’s just the right age.”

Rolfe felt instant relief. Cabin boys had more menial labors and their jobs tended to be safer, though John could only guess what had happened to the previous individual. “Yes, I think Tomtom would be perfect for that. I’ll help teach him all the parts of the job. Thank you, captain. We will serve the ship and the crew well. Now, if I might ask, where are we headed on our next venture? Young Tomtom has yet to see much of the known world and I’m sure the curiosity is killing him,” the Englishman continued.

“We’re heading down south past Florida way to hijack Spanish ships. They are rumored to carry great quantities of gold from the southernmost colonies. We captured this vessel for need of another ship, in order to ambush the Spaniards from both sides. That and the crew got a bit crowded on the old _Draw_. Thereafter we head to Tortuga for wenches and rum!” Bleud cried, receiving a loud cheer from his crew. Pocahontas raised an eyebrow, unable to decipher the meaning of the word ‘wenches.’

Bleud turned and started shouting orders before the boisterous crew even quieted down. “Flame, I’m making you a temp captain of the new ship. I want half of you men back on the _Draw_ in less than a minute. Move out!”

“Aye, captain,” exclaimed the crew in unison.

“Aye, Bleud,” echoed the quartermaster. Once Bleud and half the crew had swung back over to the _Draw_ , Flame turned around and began barking his own set of orders. “Riggers up to the riggings. Unfurl the sails. I can feel a favorable wind a-blowing. Hurry it up! Last straggler gets a flogging,” Flame announced sharply just before he winked at Rolfe with a sly grin on his face. Pocahontas did not fail to notice Rolfe’s eyes widen in alarm just before he turned and bolted for the riggings. The Englishman could run faster than a young buck from a wolf’s jaws when his skin was on the line.

“Tomtom?” Pocahontas suddenly heard Flame call her fake name and she turned to see him holding a mop and bucket. He tossed both items to her, which she caught. “Swab the deck free of all the gore. I want to see my reflection in it by daybreak,” he instructed, earning an instantaneous nod from her. Then he disappeared to command the others.


	2. A Pirate's Life is Not for Me

When Pocahontas was first handed the mop, she regarded it as she would her best friend. The perceived simplicity of the chore never did materialize for she soon discovered that the blood on the planks refused to wash up entirely. It appeared to be soaked into the grain of the wood and, no matter how hard she scrubbed, a crimson tinge remained. Worse yet, it appeared the majority of the deck had been tainted. There was even blood on the railing and other hard-to-reach places.

The fear of performing inadequate work drove Pocahontas tirelessly through the night though she had had little sleep before the attack. Poor Rolfe, on the other hand, had had none at all. Halfway through the night Flame’s newly appointed first mate, Leonard Legless, had come to relieve the captain from command. Every four or so hours she noticed as crewmen came to relieve the other riggers. The unfortunate Englishman was the only exception as he remained up in the riggings even after sunrise.

Pocahontas had a strong suspicion that Flame had specifically ordered the crew not to relieve John Rolfe. She felt a spike of terror as she saw Rolfe rub his eyes, teetering in exhaustion high up on the main mast. He immediately grabbed hold of the riggings, a look of sheer panic written all over his face. She wanted to call out to him to come down or to hang a net over the quarterdeck below him at the very least. She calmed down a bit when he was able to move to a slightly safer location closer to the mast.

As she continued her work, Pocahontas became lost in her thoughts though she always poised herself to keep Rolfe in her peripheral vision. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt a painfully hard clap on her back and turned to see Flame’s hideous smiling face. “Whoa, there,” said the new captain, chuckling. “Slow down, my boy. You’ll work yourself to death. When I said I wanted to see my reflection, I didn’t mean turn the whole deck into a mirror. Wouldn’t want the sun reflected in the riggers’ eyes, now would we?”

Pocahontas blinked in surprise and almost dropped her mop, then shook her head in response. She gritted her teeth when he clapped her again in the same sore spot and said, “Off to the sleeping quarters with you, laddie. Wouldn’t want to be stunting your growth for lack of shuteye,” he said in a chummy manner, waving her off.

Pocahontas wanted to point to Rolfe to find out when he would be relieved but she was afraid that if she let her concern show, it could be used against them later. She nodded and walked away from Flame as he turned his attention to the swarthy bosun. In the light of day the bosun appeared to be a very, very dark shade of brown rather than the pure ebony she thought she had seen the night before. His features looked different too. His hair, for instance, was hard to describe. It looked like a thin layer of black fuzz tacked to his skull and his nose was flatter than most, stretched out across his face. It was not an unattractive look, just different, and she wondered if she would ever see more people like him—though she hoped others might be friendlier.

The disguised woman yawned deeply as she emptied the bucket over the side of the ship. She put the mop and bucket away in the storage room just below deck and then emerged again to check on Rolfe. It was clear that his energy level had entered a nosedive when his eyelids fluttered despite his precarious situation. He struggled to keep his eyes even halfway open and his pull on the lines had weakened considerably. Pocahontas bit her lower lip as she watched in dread.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed some movement and turned to see Flame pointing up at Rolfe. Standing beside Flame, the bosun grinned in amusement. The captain laughed outright with a wicked look in his cold eyes.

Hatred welled up inside Pocahontas but then she gave in to a sigh of melancholy. The last time she could remember feeling so helpless was when her father had first sentenced John Smith to execution and that was more than five years ago.

Pocahontas chanted quietly to the wind spirits to keep Rolfe from falling. Her voice was carried away by the gale as she sorely began to miss the liberating feeling of a cool breeze in her long flowing hair. The wind whistled back in response to her chant, giving her some hope that the right spirits had heard her plea and were eager to assist.

She went to check on Meeko before retiring. He had stayed down in the brig with the others though she was surprised to find that he was slightly more alert than before. The raccoon even started sniffing the bread she offered him—a treat that she had snagged from the galley on the way down.

Pocahontas ran a hand through his fur as he investigated the food item. “Don’t give up, Meeko. We’ll be on the saltwater a little bit longer than expected but don’t give up.”

Meeko reacted with a small purr and nibbled on the bread. Flit buzzed by and Pocahontas asked him to keep an eye on Meeko for her—to which the small bird responded with a nod. Pocahontas peered into a barrel to find Percy curled up inside. He was fast asleep so she left him some food and retreated to the sleeping quarters a few floors above.

Settling into a hammock in a room full of loudly snoring pirates bothered Pocahontas little after what she had been through. She was so tired but she found sleep elusive. Her thoughts went to Rolfe. It was so unfair. Why was Flame picking on him so much and not her? She wanted to see the wicked man flayed for what he was doing. She stayed up another hour in hope that Rolfe would soon crawl into the empty hammock above hers. He never appeared and at last her body gave into the overwhelming need for rest.

…

Pocahontas awoke with a start. What time of day it was, she could not be sure. As she rubbed her eyes clear, she got the impression it was still daylight from the faint sun glow in the hall. Realization struck her and her eyes darted frantically around the room. Some of the hammocks contained different pirates than before but none contained Rolfe. She twisted around to get her feet on the floor and ended up falling on her face with a grunt. Her fear numbed the pain and she scrambled up from the planks, bolting out the door.

Pocahontas ran up top and glanced around the decks. There were plenty of men shuffling about but none of them were John. She looked to all three masts—no John. Where was he? She ran to the stern of the ship and glanced out into the sea. There appeared to be no bodies floating out there but the ship was moving pretty fast. _Please, spirits, no…_ she pleaded, watching the endless blue sea disappear behind them under the setting sunlight.

She shook her head violently. _No._ There were plenty of places he could be. It was a big ship. She steeled her jaw and went back inside, determined to check every nook and cranny of the vessel. She searched every room from bow to stern, pretending to be performing a chore whenever another pirate came along. At last she came to the hold. It was on the same level of the ship as the brig but closer to the bow. She crept silently into the large space and peered around in the dim light provided by the lanterns in the hall.

She heard a soft sound and grabbed one of the lanterns, bringing more light into the darkened room. At last, and to her great relief, Pocahontas spotted him. Rolfe was passed out on his belly in a large pile of potatoes all the way in the back. What the heck was he doing there? She bolted over to him and planted the lamp at the foot of the pile. “John! Wake up!” she cried. She was careful not to shake him in case he was injured. In fact her first impulse was to pull the rim of his shirt out of his belt and check his back for lash marks. Perhaps that was why he had not come to the hammocks and was lying prone. She was thankful to discover that the skin was smooth and unblemished, at least for now.

As Rolfe did not respond, Pocahontas turned him over with some effort and checked his breathing. He was alive but out cold. A rare five o’clock shadow graced his jaw but even more boggling was the cherry-red color that marked his under-eyes, chin, and lower forehead. It could not have been from a slap as it was not in the shape of a handprint, though the flesh appeared swollen. Bizarre was the only way she could describe it. She still wondered what he was doing down in the hold and on a pile of potatoes no less.

Finally she could take it no more and shook him awake. He grunted. His reddened eyes could hardly focus at first but he eventually came to, struggling to sit up. His stiff motions worried her. _“Pocahontas?”_ he murmured, blinking his eyes repeatedly.

“John, what are you doing down here? Why aren’t you in the—” She paused. “And what happened to your face?”

“What do you mean, I—” Rolfe began, rubbing his eyes. He stopped immediately, gasping in pain. _“Oh dear, I’ve got to find a new hat,”_ he murmured.

“What is it?” Pocahontas said. “Did someone hit you? What happened?”

Rolfe looked at her and blinked. “What? Oh no! It’s called a sunburn, dear. Don’t worry. It will heal right up in a few days. It happens when I spend too much time in the sun.”

Pocahontas raised an eyebrow in curiosity and was about to interrogate him further when Rolfe suddenly gasped in realization. “Oh no! I fell asleep? I’m supposed to be peeling potatoes for the crew’s supper tonight. What time is it?!” Rolfe cried, struggling to get up. “I’ve got to fill the pot before sundown,” he rasped.

Pocahontas spotted the medium-sized cauldron he was talking about in a nearby corner. It was less than a fourth full. Rolfe bit his lip and peered around frantically. “Now where on earth did my knife go?” he uttered, groping all over the space.

From what Pocahontas remembered from her search on the deck, the sun was getting dangerously close to the horizon. However, like all Powhatan women, she was experienced with quick food preparation and could now use the skill to their benefit. She narrowed her eyes and pushed Rolfe down onto his back again, causing him to grunt slightly in pain. “Go to sleep,” she instructed, snatching the knife from the pot. He had somehow managed to drop it into the cauldron before passing out.

Just as John Rolfe began to protest, Pocahontas repeated the order, _“Go. To. Sleep.”_ She gave him a look that implied there was to be no argument, the same one her father had given him when Rolfe had contested the plan to send Pocahontas to England. It silenced the English diplomat instantly. Grabbing the first potato, she got to work.

The speed and skill at which Pocahontas worked shocked Rolfe to the point that his jaw fell open as he watched. “How…?”

“SLEEP!” Pocahontas snapped. He immediately closed his eyes and let his head fall back in a resting position. He shifted around uncomfortably for a few minutes until she started humming a song her mother sang to her long ago. He stopped moving and soon enough Pocahontas heard the soft sounds of a sleep-induced breathing pattern. She smiled. It was not long before she filled the cauldron up to the top. Though the pot was heavy with so many potatoes in it, she hefted it up with a good bit of effort and trekked out of the hold.

On one of the upper levels, Pocahontas ran into Flame who was on his way down—to check on what was taking Rolfe so long, no doubt. She suppressed the urge to grin wickedly at the shock in his eyes when he spotted the cauldron she was carrying. His jaw dropped slightly. “Mr. Rolfe give potatoes to me for the men, run off for more work. Where is the galley, captain?” she innocently inquired in her practiced man-voice.

Without breaking his stare, Flame pointed down the hall. She nodded her head in a polite gesture of thanks and turned away from him, grinning wickedly when he could not see.

“Tomtom,” Flame suddenly said, causing her to stop in her tracks. She put her nonchalant face back on and glanced back at him over her shoulder. “Where did Mr. Rolfe go when he finished with the potatoes, lad?”

Pocahontas shot a glance at the ceiling. “Up,” she said. It was vague enough that he would not know she was lying but it would also keep him out of the hold while John Rolfe rested. She might have been in a situation beyond her control but she would be damned before letting a sadist find an excuse to torture someone she loved.

…

Pocahontas was starting to see what John Rolfe meant by likening their situation to stage acting. Unlike at the Hunt Ball, she was beginning to enjoy the experience of pretending to be someone else. It was a delightful form of deceit. In fact it reminded her of the childhood games she used to play in which she pretended to be a fox, an eagle, a chieftain, or any number of other things. The high stakes of the current situation only added to her fervor to perform well.

Over the course of a few hours, Pocahontas led the dreaded Flame all over the ship on a wild goose chase in pursuit of Rolfe. Fortunately his attention was often stolen by demands from the other crew members so he could not engage in a full time search. Pocahontas had told Flame that every time she had spotted Rolfe, he was performing another important duty. In reality she covered for him by performing all of those duties herself and crediting the completed work to him. Flame would have nothing to accuse the English gentleman of thanks to Pocahontas’s cleverness.

It was not until a few hours after dark that supper was announced. As it turned out, it was the busiest time for her. As the cabin boy, she was expected to run back and forth between the galley and mess hall to serve the whole crew. She really pushed herself in an effort to stay on everyone’s good side. The last thing she wanted was to make enemies of any of the pirates. So she forced herself to laugh at all the jokes she heard, no matter how unfunny or inappropriate. She feebly joined in the drunken idiotic songs of the crew, even providing entertainment with an impressive fire-spinning act learned from her tribe.

The only individual she could not earn a gold-toothed grin from was the bosun. He appeared to be a mostly humorless man and the way he stared at her always chilled her to the core. She worried about her inability to assess his motives. Could he see through her disguise? If so, why had he not exposed her? Fortunately he did not keep his attention on her for long periods of time—else she might have fumbled during her performance.

At the end of the feast, Pocahontas was pleased to discover that all the pirates were privileged to take as much food as they liked to keep themselves sustained throughout the next day. The cook only prepared one large meal after dark and there was plenty to be had. The rum rations she had heard mention of were on account of the rum supply being low, given the pirates were all heavy drinkers. But fortunately for her, John, Meeko, Percy, and Flit, rum was the only scarce resource aboard the ship.

Starved from the day’s labor, Pocahontas stuffed herself full before going in search of something to carry food down to Rolfe in. She found an empty burlap sack in the galley and filled it with breads, cheeses, fruits, and other food items when her duties were finished. It had likely been at least twenty-four hours since John had eaten, she realized, so she snuck back down to the hold. Rolfe was still knocked out on the pile of potatoes and she had to sprinkle some water on his face to rouse him.

He snapped awake with a start, breathing heavily as his eyes darted around in an attempt to assess his surroundings. “What’s happened? How long have I been asleep?!” he cried.

Pocahontas pressed a kiss to his lips to hush him, which worked like magic. She pulled away and stuffed a piece of bread into his mouth before he could say anything else. It took his brain barely a fraction of a second to analyze the foreign material before he ravenously tore a piece off the loaf and began to wolf it down. “Chew, John. Don’t make yourself sick,” Pocahontas scolded, handing him a skin of fresh rainwater.

John Rolfe took it readily and emptied half of it in the span of a few seconds. No matter, she had brought another in the sack. She showed him the contents and his eyes widened at the feast made available to him. He glanced up at her. “Have I ever mentioned that I love you?” he uttered, bashfully poking his fingers together.

“Mhmm,” Pocahontas replied, presenting him with a hunk of cheese. He took it gratefully and began to feast again, devouring the bread and cheese in a few short minutes.

“Is there any meat in there?” Rolfe suddenly inquired. When Pocahontas presented him with a leg of lamb, he thought he would die happy.

She heard him muttering a prayer of thanks just before he bit into the tender flesh. “There is wine available too,” she added. “I was pleased to discover that there are no rations for food, only rum because it is scarce. Everyone is allowed to eat as much as they want.”

Rolfe swallowed the bite in his mouth and met her eyes. “That is an important discovery, Pocahontas. It should increase our chances significantly. In fact I want you to make it a priority to eat as much as you possibly can during our time on this ship. We may or may not have to go without food for some time after we escape. The more weight you and I put on now, the better our chances of survival later. Understand?”

Pocahontas nodded. “Don’t worry. I stuffed myself too. I’m so full right now that I fear I’ll burst if I bend the wrong way,” she replied, laughing.

“Perfect,” John Rolfe said as she presented him with the skin of wine. He bit off another hunk of the lamb leg and washed it down with the sweet beverage. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this hungry in my entire life,” he noted, turning the leg of lamb around to the meatier side. “It’s an odd feeling. Painful at first but then immensely enjoyable.”

Despite the desperation of their situation, manners were not entirely lost on one in whom they had been so deeply ingrained. Rolfe made a point of keeping his face clean throughout the meal to the point Pocahontas almost wanted to roll her eyes. “So John, I’ve had to tell many lies but I’ve led the scarred man to believe that you have been busy performing duties throughout the ship. I think it would not be unreasonable for you to ask him if you can retire now and get more sleep. Thanks to your brilliant plan, he has been going easy on me. I can help take some of the pressure off of you in turn.”

Rolfe’s mouth was full as he devoured his meal though he gave her a nod to indicate he understood. She prompted him on the duties she had completed for him so he would know what to say to Flame if asked. When he was almost done eating, she added, “I think if we work together, we can keep the lash off your back until we have a chance to escape. But you need to be unafraid to rely on me for support, just as I have you.”

She was surprised to see Rolfe nod again as she almost expected a bit of argument from him. He wiped his mouth and placed his hands on her shoulders. “You have proven to me many times that you are capable of far more than I thought you were. I will try not to underestimate you again, my dear,” he expressed, making her smile. After a short pause, he continued, “Now have you checked on Meeko, Percy, and Flit? Are they alright?”

She nodded. “I brought them food too. They seem to want to stay in the brig because they are afraid of the pirates.”

Rolfe snorted as he slowly and painfully rose to his feet. “Well, they’re not alone in that,” he remarked, hissing in pain. He carefully reached up to stretch his sore back and then let his arms fall to his side again, yawning. “Oh my, I must look absolutely dreadful,” he muttered to himself, scratching the rough, itchy stubble on his chin.

“Speak for yourself,” Pocahontas groaned, frowning down at the floorboards. She shifted uncomfortably in the tight corset. Her chest felt like a furnace and she desperately wished she could throw it off and cool down but she could not risk discovery. The Great Spirit only knew how long she would have to wear the dreadful garment.

“Now Pocahontas, don’t be silly. You could be wearing nothing but mud and you’d still be the most ravishing thing I’d ever laid eyes upon,” Rolfe countered. She flushed slightly and gave him a half-grin as he turned to face her. He took her hand in his. “Now listen, darling. There’s something we need to discuss and I fear it may be an unpleasant subject but one we must cover nonetheless.”

When Pocahontas’s face fell slightly at the ill-boding statement, he wagged a finger at her. “Don’t be like that,” he admonished. “There’s a good chance that everything will be all right. But in case our luck takes a turn for the worst, I want us to be prepared. If something happens to me, I firmly believe you can still make it back home on your own.”

A gasp escaped Pocahontas’s lips as John Rolfe buried a hand in one of the pockets of his filthy green trousers, pulling out a small coin purse. He placed the item in the palm of her hand and closed her slim fingers around it. “This should be enough gold for you to barter passage back to Virginia once the ship arrives in Tortuga. Be on the lookout. Tortuga is a dangerous place populated by cutthroat fiends but if you can successfully blend in and find a ship headed in the right direction, you can get yourself home. Also, in the spot below the brig floorboards, I hid the necklace I gave you in London. It is quite valuable, so if these coins aren’t enough, you could use that as added leverage. This is assuming you aren’t given a share of the plunder if and when we attack a Spanish ship. All in all, I believe your chances are quite good, love. Just don’t lose hope.” He finished his short speech by planting a kiss on the back of her hand.

Pocahontas’s bottom lip began to quiver. She tried to give the coin purse back. “No, John! I can’t accept this. You’re going to be fine. We’ll get home together. I know we—”

Rolfe silenced her by placing a finger on her lips and shoved the purse in the pocket of her trousers. “This is not up for discussion, Pocahontas. I’m not saying anything is going to happen but if it does, I want to ensure your safety as much as possible. I have every intention of getting you safely back to your father or I will die trying. However if you promise me that you won’t give up even if I do die, you will greatly increase my chances of survival. If there’s any resource I’m scarcest on at the moment, it is peace of mind.”

Pocahontas felt her nose start to run and her vision blurred but she forced herself to nod through the tears. Rolfe wrapped his arms around her as she buried her face in his chest, clinging hopelessly to his shirt with her hands. She breathed heavily.

Rolfe flinched when a familiar little bird showed up in his line of vision. Pocahontas noticed the sudden movement and turned around, meeting Flit’s eyes as he squeaked in melancholy. Her animal friends never did like seeing her upset.

“Hello, Flit,” Rolfe greeted as he rubbed the small of Pocahontas’s back. “Are you and the others holding up alright?” The hummingbird seemed to shrug in response. “Oh, well. At least there haven’t been any disasters, right?” he replied, weary.

Pocahontas dried her eyes and said, “Come. Let’s make an appearance before they get suspicious.” She grabbed the dim lantern on the floor and led the way out.

…

Contrary to expectations, things did start to get slightly easier after the first few hellish days. Thanks to Pocahontas’s constant support, Rolfe was able to avoid the lash although they had a few close calls every now and again. The Englishman began to put on more muscle to the point that his clothes tightened around his frame. Pocahontas managed to find him a hat with a string, allowing him to bind it to his head against the harsh winds up in the masts. He was fortunate to suffer no more sunburns after that.

As much as John Rolfe hated itchy facial hair, he felt pressured to let some bristles grow out to give himself a rougher, more lawless appearance. Short of cutting off a hand and replacing it with a hook, the Englishman did everything he could to make himself look like less of an easy target to Flame and the others.

As part of the diplomat’s developing escape plan, he made an effort to befriend one of the ship’s navigators to gain access to the ship’s land map. The task proved to be much easier said than done. For his calm and intellectual manner, Rolfe did not find it easy to be liked amongst the pirates. It was a hard learning experience for him as he had always made friends easily in English high society. On the pirate ship however, he got punched quite a few times for his cordial efforts.

Pocahontas fretted over him quite a bit when he would show up with a black eye or any other new cuts and bruises. But by the end of week one, Rolfe felt he was making progress with some of the curs as far as peaceful relations went. He had to make multiple adjustments to all his practiced social behaviors to achieve even the tiniest results though.

What was most worrisome to Pocahontas was the fact that the bosun never seemed to lose interest in Rolfe. She often spotted the large man watching him from a prominent position on the ship’s quarterdeck. The look in his dark eyes was unreadable. From what they had seen the first day after the attack, the bosun was also the man who bore the cat o’ nine tails against offending crew members.

Fortunately Pocahontas had been able to duck into a privy in the belly of the ship and cover her ears when the beating of the clumsy blond pirate had taken place. From what she had heard, it had been quite brutal indeed. She had not seen the man again and later learned that he was recovering in the medical bay. The pirates considered three lashes a light punishment but, judging by the size and strength of the whip-bearer, it had the potential to kill. The brutality present in these men’s lives was unimaginable to her and it kept Pocahontas on her toes throughout the southbound voyage.

At the beginning of the second week the winds evened out, meaning the sails could be left in one position for longer without the ship losing speed. This relieved most of the riggers to partake in other duties and occasionally even a bit of leisurely activities such as gambling in the mess hall and fencing up on the deck. It was at this time that Rolfe asked Flame permission to begin teaching ‘Tomtom’ the art of sword fighting. Surprised to discover that the ‘boy’ was a complete beginner, the captain consented immediately.

Rolfe selected two wooden practice swords from the armory and began teaching Pocahontas the basic fencing poses on the quarterdeck in the early mornings and late evenings. She learned much faster than expected and was soon able to proceed onto basic moves, followed by more advanced maneuvers.

When Flame came to recognize that John Rolfe was as good as his word in terms of the work he was willing and able to do, his malicious intent toward the Englishman eased up somewhat. Still the bosun’s constant lurking attentions on Rolfe unnerved Pocahontas to the point that she finally pulled John inside the empty storage room and warned him to watch his back when the large man was around.

When Rolfe peered out the window at the bosun and swallowed in apprehension, it did not make Pocahontas feel any better. “Well thanks, Pocahontas. I’d been so busy, I had not really noticed. I really must learn to become more observant if we’re ever to get out of here in one piece,” he replied, turning from the window. He placed a gentlemanly kiss on the back of her hand in a gesture of appreciation.

She gave him a half-smile, suddenly reminded of just how much she missed being treated like an actual woman. It was a privilege she had taken for granted her whole life up until now. She wanted this nightmare to end and she wanted it to end soon but she knew she would have to keep holding on tight for the ride.

Pocahontas sighed and wiped away a stray lock of hair that had fallen out of her hat. “To think if this had never happened, we’d be home by now,” she lamented, sitting down on the top of a small barrel. She rested her elbows on her knees and buried her face in her hands. A moment later she felt Rolfe’s warm reassuring hand on her shoulder. It seemed to do the trick by bringing her back into the present.

Thereafter, whenever Pocahontas spoke in a manner tinged with despair, Rolfe was there to remind her that all things happen for a reason. Perhaps the powers that be were testing them, seeing what they were made of for some divine purpose. Perhaps many years later, they would look back at all this craziness and laugh. They could only keep hoping and planning, spying and observing—waiting for their chance to make a clean getaway. Through it all, Rolfe was there to keep Pocahontas grounded, and she him.

…

One night near the end of the second week, Pocahontas was attending to her usual cabin boy duties in the mess hall. Most of the crewmen had finished their meals already and left to either sleep, gamble, or drink their rum ration up on the deck. Very few were on duty. With the winds stable, all they needed were a few night watchmen and a navigator.

Only a tight clique of about five pirates remained in the far corner of the mess hall after hours. Even so Pocahontas was expected to remain in case they required service. The posse sat around a medium-sized circular table with only one lantern in the center to provide lighting. When Pocahontas was called over to deliver a mug of ale, she observed that the men were playing some kind of game with rectangular pieces of stiff paper. All the rectangles were decorated with intricate patterns. She had glanced such a game in London on occasion but had never thought to ask what it was about.

Pocahontas was curious but too tired to inquire. However she managed to get pulled into the action anyway when she barely overheard something whispered by one of the men that caught her interest. “…enraged deities of the…ride the wind…favor attacking on the Spanish…” From the man’s tone of voice it sounded like he was recounting some deep, dark, secret tale to the others that he did not want everyone on the ship to overhear.

Pocahontas quietly shuffled out into the hall and ran to the wall between her and the pirates. There were a few small holes in the wood so she stuck her ear up against one. Now she could listen in with more clarity. She just had to keep an eye on the stairwell ahead to make sure no one caught her eavesdropping.

“Aye, ’tis true, men,” another pirate confirmed. The voice belonged to a baldheaded man with a burn scar in the shape of a spider on his skull. “Some of the wenches in Tortuga were sold to the brothels by the Spaniards. They are the survivors. Cortéz ravaged the Aztec tribes for the gold, plundering and pillaging village after village. They say the death god could no longer contain all the lost souls in the afterlife. He tried to stretch it further into the black expanse but it ruptured and released tens of thousands of murdered souls back into the living land. Some got caught up in the wind, others the ocean currents. The mindless spirits of the dead seek only one thing—revenge.”

“Sounds like a load of crock,” another man retorted. “How stupid can you—”

“NO!” countered the bald cur, slamming a fist down on the table. The whole room seemed to rattle with the impact. “There is proof. Look around you, fool. The winds blow in an unnatural direction, south of the coast. Why do you think they’ve been so strong and even over a week straight? They know we hunt the Spaniards and they want to help us. Why do you think the _Draw_ could ride through the pall of that storm two weeks back like a bird on a breeze when this ship could not? They wanted us to take the ship, have the advantage. They control the elements. There have been reports of Spanish ships sucked into the belly of the ocean for no apparent reason. Have you not heard?”

“What are you doing, boy?” came a fearsome deep voice. Pocahontas thought her heart would pop out of her chest in that instant. Fortunately over the course of the last two weeks, she had learned how to suppress the impulse to yelp when startled. Instead she simply jolted and spun around, coming face to face with a towering dark figure.

The bosun wore his usual vacant expression. He did not appear angry per se but neither did he appear amused. Pocahontas knew she would have to think on her feet to get out of this one. Then again how incriminating was eavesdropping aboard a pirate ship anyway?

“I am sorry,” Pocahontas began, tempted to remove her hat and place it on her chest as she had often seen Rolfe do in humble submission. “In village, there was much storytelling. I was missing to listen to the story. Did not want to bother the men. I am sorry. It is childish…” she weakly explained, fighting the urge to shuffle her feet.

He placed a hand on his chin, considering her words. Then he walked by her and waved a hand in the direction he was going. “Come, boy. I have many stories from my homeland. Where I come from, there is nothing ‘childish’ about stories,” he replied in the strangest accent she had ever heard. It was the first time she had heard him speak loud and clear.

While Pocahontas was relieved she would not be punished for eavesdropping, she was afraid to follow the large man. On the other hand, she began to feel an intense sense of curiosity. What would she learn from this man if she dared listen? After a moment’s hesitation, she decided the risk was worth it. Rolfe had instructed her to glean any information from the crew whenever she could. Perhaps she would discover why the bosun was inclined to watch John so intensely though she feared the answer. She nodded and began to follow him. “I would like, sir,” she uttered. He said nothing more as he led her to the end of the hall. She kept her eyes down until they reached their destination. To her surprise, it turned out the bosun was staying in Rolfe’s former cabin.

Pocahontas felt her heart lurch at the realization that he might have found some document in Rolfe’s room indicating their real identities. However the fear was mostly squelched when she crept inside at the bosun’s invite. It appeared Rolfe had hurriedly purged his cabin of any and all incriminating evidence, most likely through the window hatch on the far wall. It was still open to allow a calm breeze to enter. The Englishman was smart. Of course he would not have left any loose ends that could endanger the woman he loved.

“Sit anywhere you like,” the bosun offered as he plopped down in the embroidered silk desk chair that once belonged to Rolfe. He put his large feet up on the fine oak desk without even kicking off his heavy black boots and leaned back in the chair.

Pocahontas glanced around and spotted a similar chair in the corner. She pulled it closer and sat down in it. While she would normally have preferred the floor, the man’s presence was towering enough without her being so far below him. She tensed as the man pulled out a knife from his belt. When he casually took the blade to a small wooden figurine that he had pulled out of his pocket, she relaxed a bit. He was only whittling.

“You have name, sir?” Pocahontas inquired, her voice quite a bit more timid than she would have liked. “Other than bosun…?”

He stilled his carving and glanced at her with a dark expression. She gulped. The bosun then gently pursed his thick dark lips as his gaze fell again, perhaps in thought. Finally he shook his head and replied, “No, boy. I have no name.”

Pocahontas blinked in confusion. “I had one once,” the bosun clarified, lifting his chin to look at her. “Long, long ago. But it was stolen.” He met her eyes. “Guard yours with your life.” He deftly spun the knife in his hand and rammed the blade tip into the oaken desktop without even breaking eye contact.

Pocahontas blinked. _Stolen…?_ How could a name be stolen? The bosun’s enigmatic words compelled her to learn more. Fearing to offend him, she hesitated until she found the right wording for her next question. “Where are you from? I have not seen men like you. Never before,” she explained.

Unexpectedly the bosun grinned at her. He pulled his knife out of the oak and returned to carving. “We are not so different,” he returned, peeling a narrow grain of wood from the figurine and chucking it behind him. Glancing behind his chair, Pocahontas noticed a growing pile of wood shavings on the floor by the desk. She raised her eyebrows in surprise as he continued, “At least, neither of us are white.” He abruptly pulled his feet off the desktop and faced her fully. “I feel I can trust you, boy. Your blood is not tainted like the others. We are the only two nonwhite purebloods onboard, I believe,” he expressed, flicking a finger back and forth between the two of them. “Save one but he is not to be trusted for _other_ reasons.” He shook his head and sighed, “It is a pity we are forced to communicate in the tongue of the enemy.”

Pocahontas widened her eyes in surprise. This man… this large, mysterious man from an unknown land was confiding in her? She felt put in an awkward position but then she considered the possibilities this new development might hold for her and John Rolfe. Perhaps she could learn something of use to them, something to aid in their survival. She nodded, encouraging the bosun to continue.

“Let me ask you a question before I begin the first story, boy. Is your name really Tomtom or were you forced to shorten it for the tongue-twisted white men?” the bosun unexpectedly inquired, giving her an honest look.

Pocahontas raised an eyebrow at the odd question. “There is long name but short is used in village before white men came. For ceremony,” she explained, “it is Timtomitloctl.” She had known a Tomtom from another village when she was a child. As she recalled, they had sometimes played together. For some reason, his was the first face she thought of when Rolfe told her to pick a man’s name from her culture.

The bosun chuckled. “Of course no white man could pronounce such a beautiful name as yours, boy. They are like children, needing short simple names. More than three beats and they get confused. I had a beautiful name once too, long as the trunk of the _jimumjea_ tree.” The grin fell from his face. Pocahontas could not quite place the look in his eyes. He no longer seemed present. He had to be reminiscing on some distant time and place though she could not even hope to guess what his thoughts consisted of precisely.

A few delayed seconds later, the bosun shook his head and returned from his brief trance. “All that matters now is retribution. The land of my people was a paradise of balance. The balance has been lost but the chaos did not stop there. It spread much further. The first story I have to tell you, boy, is of the _Coming of the White Devil_.” The tone in his voice had taken a downward turn at the end and the look in his eyes darkened. “Like you, I am of royalty. My father was a great chief who presided over many villages throughout the jungle,” he began, stopping when he saw her raise an eyebrow.

“What is jungle?” Pocahontas inquired. “Is that word in your tongue?”

The bosun shook his head. “It is an English word. A jungle is a dense forest. Very hot and very wet all year long. There is no snow ever. Jungles are common in the land of Affrika, far south of the pale man’s homeland. The word for jungle in my tongue was _swiliwatsuana_. But my tongue is gone. It was stolen like my name.”

Pocahontas found herself frowning. Could she actually be feeling sympathy for this wicked man? Could the circumstances of his life truly be responsible for his cruel nature? She had to learn more so she continued to listen attentively.

He continued, “The people of my tribe did not wear any clothes at all. Only jewelry. Thousands of beads made from painted stones, fired clay, carved bone, and seashells. The land was rich and we were a prosperous people, successful at expelling our enemies whenever they came of threat. My parents were warriors both, tall and strong. Our staple food was _jimumbaia_ porridge, made from the pulp of the _jimumjea_ tree, but the local diet was diverse. We gorged ourselves on fruits, roots, wild bee honey, clams, and ox meat and blood when the rains came each year in an enormous celebration. The coming of the heavy rains was considered the time when the land was reborn. The sodden sky breathed new life into the earth like a mother nursing her newborn child.”

Pocahontas found herself becoming absorbed in the tale. The bosun’s intricate descriptions brought her into a new world her eyes never had the privilege to behold. She wondered if John Smith had seen such places and she regretted never having had the opportunity to talk to the blue-eyed captain in depth about his travels. As Pocahontas peered into the bosun’s mournful eyes, he almost seemed to be in another time long past as he recounted his story. She thought she spotted a glimmer of remembered happiness—stolen, of course, like all the things this man once knew.

“I was about your age when the world as I knew it changed. Perhaps a little older. I believe I was considered of seventeen years by the white man’s calculations. My people measured time in seasons of which there were two per year—the wet season and the dry season. I was precisely thirty-five seasons old at the time my younger brother spotted strange clouds off the coast of our jungle.”

Pocahontas gasped, causing the bosun to raise a brow. “I… I saw the strange clouds over the trees too. I had heard the spirits whisper of them,” she blurted. When she realized what she had said, she almost wanted to clap a hand over her mouth. It would not be wise for her to confide as well. This man could not be trusted after all. She mentally kicked herself and resolved to watch her tongue thereafter.

To her surprise, the bosun simply nodded. “It is a tale I have heard from many such as us, child. It was a _jimumjea_ spirit that told my brother. The white man sailed to your shores for gold, did he not?” the man inquired.

Pocahontas gave an affirmative head bob and said, “He found none.”

The bosun nodded softly, indicating his understanding. “You were lucky. Although it did you little good as the pale king has declared war on your people anyway. They will not survive. You know this to be true. In my land the pale men came looking for hard rocks called diamonds. They were worthless to us beyond use as simple tools but the white men hungered for them as lions for zebra flesh.”

His blunt statement showed little sympathy for her people’s supposed impending demise but Pocahontas figured he had been ruthlessly hardened by the experiences he was about to detail. She frowned at the bleakness of it all but allowed him to continue.

“The white men on our shores pretended to be friendly at first,” he disclosed. “They showed an interest in learning our tongue and some of our ways. They were few in number and we did not see them as a threat. Though their weapons were powerful, they never used them to threaten us. We believed their thunder-sticks were for hunting only. As our land was abundant, we were naïve enough to give them what they asked for. In our negotiations with them, we set only two rules—they were to stay away from our women and our holy burial grounds. That was all. We were willing to share food, water, beads, and anything else of value that they wished of us because we had so much.”

As the bosun paused, he shook his head in sorrow. Pocahontas’s gaze fell as she bit her lip in a dejected manner. “Their leader was a young white man with hair the color of the sun at midday,” he said after a short silence. The statement caught Pocahontas’s attention and she looked up as he added, “And eyes the color of the sky. In my tribe, a boy is considered a man at twenty-four seasons of age and may take his first wife. The ordinary man is allowed a new wife every two seasons until he reaches the limit he can provide for. Most men reached their limit with somewhere between three and five women. As a prince, I was very wealthy and could support many wives with my bounty. When the white men arrived, I already had over thirty wives and nearly as many children.”

He paused, contemplating something before he looked up at Pocahontas again. “Have you been with a woman yet, boy?” he unexpectedly inquired, grinning slyly at her.

The inquisition abashed Pocahontas and she blinked in surprise. Her face flushed as she shook her head. _What a bizarre thought,_ she realized, throwing off the absurd notion.

The bosun just shrugged. “I fear the pirating life does not accommodate maidens well but if you desire we can set you up with a wench in Tortuga. I know it is not ideal but better than going without.” He winked at her and continued, “Anyway, I was about to take another wife, in fact—my favorite. Her name was _Shanqilshatsuq_. She was a beauty to rival the starlit night itself. To be honest, her beauty is difficult to describe in English. The wretched white man’s tongue could never do her justice,” he griped, shaking his head in suppressed anger. He met Pocahontas’s eyes. “As she grew, the people of her village became so enamored of her grace that they created a song about her which travelled the land. It was how I first learned of her existence. Would you like to hear it?”

Pocahontas nodded, never breaking eye contact. With that, the bosun began the chant. Despite the gruffness of his speaking voice, his melodic range was more colorful and varied than the wind. Pocahontas closed her eyes as she listened, letting the music wash over her like a gentle surf on a soft sandy beach.

_“Shanqilshatsuq sinsqatsu’an gana gei prusutan_

_Leia leia Shanqilshatsuq estpece tea tintantuan_

_Beia beia Shanqilshatsuq estpece tea lestitqintan_

_Shanqilshatsuq, e, Shanqilshatsuq pece seqinsan_

_Jinjinjinjin jabequ’an Shanqilshatsuq, suequetan.”_

It was not so much the meaning of the specific words that came to Pocahontas’s mind as images of what they described, in the flesh. She entered a trance-like state of the time the bosun had first laid eyes upon Shanqilshatsuq. As the woman of impeccable proportions and features approached, the sun rose red in the background—soon to be splattered by blood across the alien landscape. Pocahontas awoke with a start, looking shaken.

“Are you all right, boy?” the bosun asked, raising a brow. He observed that Pocahontas was breathing rather heavily and he kept his gaze focused on her as realization dawned in his visage. “You saw it, didn’t you?” he murmured.

Pocahontas said not a word but nodded fiercely. The bosun looked impressed. “In my land, the men and women with your powers are called _spirit-eyes_. I am one too as were my brother and mother. It is a pity there are so few of us left now that the White Plague has spread so far over the earth. Even I have fallen out of practice.”

Pocahontas glanced downward and then met the bosun’s eyes again. She was almost afraid to voice her next question. “…So what happened to Shanqilshatsuq?” she murmured. She noted a flash of pain in the bosun’s eyes and immediately regretted her words. “I am sorry, I did not mean—” she began but he put up a hand to silence her.

“It’s fine, boy. I was going to get to that. It is part of the story. In short, Shanqilshatsuq betrayed me… for the sun-haired man. The pompous woman believed her beauty entitled her to something beyond a mere ‘prince.’ In her youthful naivety, she wrongly believed the man to be a god. I did not know for a while. I had a suspicion on the night of our wedding for she did not break as a proper maiden should. But I was so enamored of her perfection that I ignored my better judgment. I blinded myself to her deception because I wanted her so. In retrospect, I realize I did not wish to know the truth. It was not until over a season later that the truth fell screaming from her loins, the spawn of a fair-skinned demon. Never did I think so hideous a monstrosity could come from one so elegant as Shanqilshatsuq. It defies reason, boy!” the bosun decried with great intensity.

Pocahontas’s jaw fell open. Was this man referring to a hybrid child as a ‘monstrosity’? It was not the child’s fault it had been born. The bosun’s outburst did not sit right with Pocahontas. If she got what she wanted, her own future children would be of two peoples as well. The young woman felt her hands shaking slightly. The story had gone far enough at this point and she feared hearing the rest of it.

But the bosun continued regardless. “When caught, she confessed. As you can imagine, Shanqilshatsuq’s crime had to be punished according to our ways. Mere infidelity is put to rest with a painful but relatively brief death. Shanqilshatsuq’s case was extreme. Because she had chosen to lie with a devil, her demise was long and slow and it began with the burning of the squalling demon spawn before her eyes.”

Pocahontas’s body went numb in an instant. She could not process what he had just said. After all they had discussed, after she had thought she had come to understand him—her fear of this enormous man returned with a vengeance. She could scarcely stop her body from trembling as he continued his tale, blind to her horrified demeanor. The ringing in her ears took on a heightened trill when she heard a chuckle escape his lips.

The bosun was smiling. “At dawn the morning after, we ambushed the white settlement with well over a thousand warriors. Their guns killed many of our men but the sacrifice turned out to be well worth it when the sun-haired man was captured. Do you know what we do with white devils in our land?” he asked her with a vengeful gleam in his eye. Pocahontas gulped and shook her head slowly.

“We take three or four hooks about the size of my fist,” the bosun explained, showing her his large fist for reference. “Then we stab them through the skin along the devil’s shoulders until the points stick through, just the skin—not the muscle or the bones. The ends of the hooks are tied to heavy rope. We used the rope to hang the sun-haired man from a tree but that was only the beginning…”

Pocahontas suddenly felt her stomach lurch and knew it was about time to find a way to slip off. The relief at discovering the sun-haired man in the tale could not have been John Smith did nothing to assuage her horror. Thinking fast, she feigned a yawn. “Your story is wonderful, sir. I have been up very long. Can continue later?” she timidly inquired.

The bosun blinked but then nodded. “Of course, a growing boy needs his sleep. Run along, child. There are many more stories to tell and plenty of time for the telling,” he said, rising to his feet. He trod over to the door and opened it for her departure.

Pocahontas stood up. Just when she was about to leave, the bosun suddenly said, “Oh! One more thing before you retire, boy. It is a very important thing that I have been meaning to warn you about. I know you are still a child and would not know better so it would be wise to heed my advice.” Pocahontas stopped in her tracks and raised a brow in curiosity. He continued, “We destroyed all the men in the settlement that day but there were still some on the ship. They left and returned with an armada and you can guess what happened afterwards. White men cannot be trusted, boy. Do not trust your white friend, the one with the ivory-pale skin. You know of whom I speak. He may have helped you in London but it is part of their deceit. He wants something from you. Be on the lookout. And never underestimate the white man’s wit. It is his most dangerous weapon.”

With that, the bosun let her to leave and he shut the door behind her. Pocahontas was extremely shaken at that point. She found herself racing through the halls and up the stairwell to the crew’s sleeping quarters. She found Rolfe in one of the hammocks but he was so exhausted from the day’s work that he was impossible to rouse. She desperately wanted him to comfort her but she knew she would have to wait. Not wanting to rob him of much-needed sleep, she resolved to address the issue the following day.

Pocahontas curled up in the hammock below his. Despite her suspicion that sleep would be elusive after listening to such a horrifying tale, she found that she did feel slightly better being close to Rolfe—even if he was fast asleep. She briefly glanced around the room to make sure all the sleeping pirates were facing away before she reached up and held his dangling hand. That small bit of warmth was enough to calm her nerves and Pocahontas eventually fell to troubled dreams.


	3. No One Makes a Fool of Finley Flame

The next morning, Pocahontas was nervous about trying to separate John Rolfe from the crew or even approach him in view of the others. She needed the bosun’s trust and she knew she could not afford to rouse his suspicion.

In the late evening, Rolfe showed up in the mess hall and sat at one of the less populated tables. At last, Pocahontas spotted an opportunity. The bosun had not arrived yet so she found a stray piece of parchment in the galley and wrote a brief note on it. When she went to serve Rolfe, she slipped it into his hand as she laid his plate before him. She saw him blink in surprise but he did not say anything other than: “Thank you, cabin boy.”

Rolfe watched as Pocahontas nodded and left to fill other orders. When she was gone, he unfolded the note in a concealed position and read it.

_John,_

_Meet me in the hold after hours. Destroy this note once you’ve read it._

_~Pocahontas_

John Rolfe immediately tore the parchment up and chucked it out the tiny port side window behind him when nobody was looking.

When Pocahontas finally arrived in the hold later that night, Rolfe was already there with a look of deep concern on his face. “Pocahontas, what is it? Did something happen? Is it bad?” he blurted the moment he caught sight of her.

Pocahontas did not reply immediately. As he approached, she held up her hands to receive his. Their fingers automatically intertwined as they met. She peered around and double-checked the door was closed behind her. Turning back to John, she bit her lip. The emotions she had felt the night before upon hearing the horrifying tale returned when she felt it safe at last to purge them. Her eyes filled with tears.

Seeing the glassy look in her eyes, Rolfe started to panic. “Pocahontas, what is it?!” he urged, bringing a hand up to cup her cheek. He gazed intensely into her eyes in an attempt to assess what she was thinking about.

Pocahontas paused, wondering how to express what she wanted to say. When she started, her voice broke almost immediately. “S-something happened last night,” she stuttered.

Rolfe’s eyes widened and he felt a vein on his forehead bulge. “What? Did someone hurt you?! Who? I’ll kill him!” he snapped, his heart starting to race. He was relieved when Pocahontas shook her head though his concern still showed. “Then what? What’s made you so upset, love?” he gently interrogated, still fearful of the answer.

Pocahontas sat down with Rolfe on a couple of short kegs and began to tell the story, starting from when she had eavesdropped on the pirates in the mess hall. She strangely found herself leaving everything about the spirits out of the picture as she seemed to worry that John would not understand. Regardless, she observed him listening intently.

When the Powhatan woman arrived at the part about the murdered woman and child, her voice started to crack again and she felt herself hyperventilating. Rolfe placed a hand on her shoulder. “Pocahontas, I think I know where this is heading. If you don’t want to finish, you don’t have to,” he told her.

“It was bad, John. What they did—I can’t imagine why anyone would…” she left the thought unfinished and wiped a tear from her eye with her sleeve.

“Poor woman,” John Rolfe snorted. “I know what she did is technically considered a sin but I personally find it hard to blame her considering the fellow already had over _thirty_ wives. Now that is just plain greedy. A lady should never have to share with so many. Think of how little attention she would get anyway when he took a new bride after her,” he remarked as Pocahontas buried her face in his chest.

She heaved into his shirt. “And then he said they attacked the camp and tortured the father to death. It almost felt like he was implying that it was something he wanted to do to you as well just because of how you look. He hasn’t even spoken a word to you but the way he looks at you makes me think…”

Rolfe put a finger to her lips to silence her troubled thoughts. “Maybe you will feel better if I tell you a similar story with a happier ending,” he proposed. “It’s a true story from the Holy Bible. Would you like to hear it?”

Pocahontas blinked and raised her face in curiosity. She sniffled as she murmured, “Okay but only if nobody gets hurt.”

“Nobody gets hurt,” he confirmed. “This is nothing like the story of Jesus’s crucifixion, I promise.” Rolfe made the sign of the cross over his chest. “Cross my heart, hope to die.”

Pocahontas perked up and scooted her keg a little closer to his, wiping her tears away. “Okay, sure,” she said, sniffling a little. Throughout the peaceful leg of the Virginia-bound voyage, Pocahontas and John Rolfe had spent a great deal of time exchanging stories from their respective cultures. Pocahontas was particularly fond of the stories surrounding King Arthur and his legendary Round Table. Biblical tales and English fairytales were of particular fascination as well. Rolfe was quite a skilled storyteller, almost as good as Pocahontas herself. Hence she very much enjoyed listening.

It was about a month after they had set sail from London that Pocahontas started teaching Rolfe her native language. The children in her village loved stories so much that she hoped he might regale them around the bonfire at some later time. Rolfe was slow to pick up the Powhatan tongue though as it was so radically different from his own. Learning French and Spanish had been a breeze compared to Powhatan. It also did not help that Rolfe was a visual learner and Powhatan did not have a written form to aid his memory.

“Alright,” John Rolfe said, adjusting his seating to get more comfortable. “If my memory serves, this one is from the Gospel of John. The Latin title is _Pericope Adulterae_ although my brothers and sisters used to simply call it ‘Jesus and the Adultress.’ Now, as you might recall from my other stories, Jesus Christ was a very compassionate man who believed strongly in the concepts of mercy and suspension of judgment,” he began. Though the story was not particularly long, Rolfe described the setting and ancient culture in detail to give her a more vivid picture.

Pocahontas found herself absorbed and listened to the entire story without interrupting with questions or comments. While she felt her heart stop when the gruesome mention of stoning came up, she became instantly enamored of the part where the main character told the scribes and Pharisees, ‘Let any among you who is without sin cast the first stone.’

“And so, when everyone had left, he said to her, ‘Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?’ She said, ‘No one, sir.’ And then he replied, ‘Neither do I condemn you. Go your way and from now on do not sin again.’ And that is how the story ends,” Rolfe finished. “Now is your mind a bit more at peace?”

Pocahontas nodded. “Yes but I still fear to listen to more of the bosun’s stories. How much worse could they get? I’m afraid to find out. That first one started out so wonderful in the beginning… I never expected the ending to be so horrible.”

“I understand, Pocahontas,” Rolfe replied. “But I think it is important that you try to keep up this good rapport with him, especially in light of how dangerous he appears to be. You know what they say—keep your friends close and your enemies closer. I know some of what he says will be hard to hear but next time do not be afraid to wake me if you require my reassurance. Douse me in water if you have to, I don’t care!”

Pocahontas gave him a half-hearted nod, then rested her elbows on her knees and sighed. “I’m even more afraid that he’ll try to hurt you,” she murmured.

“Yes but if you speak with him regularly, maybe he’ll tell you if he’s planning anything. Then you will be able to warn me,” Rolfe countered, trying to lighten her mood with a smile. “Wouldn’t you rather we have that advantage than be left in the dark?”

“I suppose,” Pocahontas replied, sitting back. She started wringing her hands a bit between her knees and then looked up at John Rolfe again.

“So Pocahontas, I do have a bit of good news,” Rolfe said, changing to a more pleasant subject. “I’ve convinced one of the navigators to make me his apprentice. If I can earn his trust, then he might leave me alone with the land map long enough for me to copy it. I know we have not seen any land yet but we will be coming upon the Florida peninsula in the next two weeks. There is a French settlement there known as St. Augustine. If we can escape in one of the lifeboats near that location, we might be able to get the French to help us get back to Virginia. The French and British are allies at the moment so there’s an excellent chance we can curry their favor.”

“What about Tortuga?” Pocahontas replied. “I thought the plan was to find a ship when we get there to sail back north.”

“That is a less preferable option, love, because Tortuga is full of cutthroats and fiends,” Rolfe explained. “The French are of a legitimate nation on the other hand. Plus we’ll get back to Virginia much sooner if we don’t sail all the way down to Tortuga. Thirdly—and I don’t know about you—but I can hardly wait another minute to get away from these awful pirates,” he expressed, rising to his feet. He placed a hand over the painful black eye he had received days earlier from one of the moody curs.

“Good to know we’re on the same page,” Pocahontas affirmed with a nod, standing up as well. She noticed as Rolfe started fanning himself with a broken piece of board and realized just how much she was sweating herself.

“You can tell we’re getting farther south because the weather gets so much hotter,” John remarked. “I doubt if it ever snows in this part of the world.”

Though the summer had ended, early autumn was usually warm in Virginia—but certainly not _this_ warm. Pocahontas started fanning herself as well and adjusted her ever-so-irritating corset. “Ugh, it feels tighter today.”

“It’s probably because we’ve been eating so much in preparation for our escape. I can loosen it. Good to know you’ve been following my advice. At least we’ll be able to go without food for longer,” Rolfe replied as Pocahontas lifted the back of her men’s shirt. The Englishman loosened the corset strings a bit, making Pocahontas feel much more comfortable. “Better?” he asked, receiving a nod from her. “Good. You should be able to throw that dreadful thing off the moment we flee,” he added, stretching his back. “Now I don’t know about you but I am positively exhausted. Shall we retire?”

Pocahontas gave an affirmative nod and they left for the sleeping quarters above.

…

Pocahontas opened her eyes about thirty minutes before it was time for the day shift to start. She did not like how First Mate Legless had a habit of barging in, overturning hammocks, and making tons of noise to rouse the crew. It was a horrible way to be woken up so Pocahontas’s body had quickly trained itself to rise before the wakeup call. She extended that benefit to Rolfe by gently tugging on his arm so they were both sure to be awake and out the door before Legless even arrived.

They hurriedly went up to the deck and ate breakfast in view of the rising sun. While pirate culture was hostile to the very notion of romance, they still had ways of finding time for it at every opportunity. They were able to get relative privacy at the stern of the ship as the late shift was busy at the helm and further up front on the vessel.

The risk of prying eyes was less of a bother at such an hour but as a precaution Rolfe and Pocahontas avoided locking lips unless they were alone down in the hold. The crew did not frequent the lowest level of the ship except when someone needed to gather supplies. Fortunately that duty was normally assigned to the cabin boy. Therefore Pocahontas and Rolfe came to see the large, dim chamber as a sort of sanctuary.

Due to the smooth sailing, Meeko’s condition had improved though he was still nowhere near back to his normal self. When Pocahontas thought he was well enough, she moved him, Percy, and Flit to the hold. Aside from the constant access to food, the hold was larger and afforded more hiding places. This was something that Percy appreciated in particular. The crew had not even spotted him yet and he intended to keep it that way.

After eating, Rolfe got to work by relieving a night rigger from the lower sails. He liked to be one of the first on duty for two reasons. For one, Flame would never have reason to doubt his dedication and willingness to work hard—which in turn greatly reduced the likelihood of a flogging. Furthermore he had begun taking the initiative because he was able to select a lower location for himself thus reducing the risk of a fatal fall. It was certainly better than waiting to be assigned a lofty position which he almost always was by the fiendish captain or first mate. On deck, Pocahontas practiced solo with the wooden sword as she waited for someone to call her male name for the first errands of the day.

As they entered the third week with the pirates, Rolfe began to prepare provisions for his and Pocahontas’s impending departure. He had found out from Nine-Fingers Nash, the ship’s daytime navigator, that the Florida coast was expected to come into view within the next three days. It would take another two or three days before they drew close to St. Augustine and therefore to safety.

After getting over the initial shock of the bosun’s horror story, Pocahontas found the courage to go back to him for more as Rolfe had recommended. The next story he had told her was quite bone-chilling as well as he had recounted his capture by the pale invaders, torture, and subsequent two years of brutal slavery.

The most disturbing part was the bit about his escape—he had essentially gone insane after one particularly violent beating from his ‘master.’ In the dead of night, after release from the chains of his torment, the bosun had snuck into the bedrooms of the man’s young children and slit their throats, all three. He had subsequently murdered the master and mistress as well in a manner most violent and burned their house to the ground.

The slave-hunters pursued him far into the wilderness thereafter and nearly caught him. But the hunters stumbled upon a band of treasure-hunting pirates first. After the bosun watched the brigands rob and kill his pursuers from tall grasses, he gathered the courage to approach them and ask to become one of them. He had since been part of the crew of the _Blood Draw_ for over two decades and had never looked back.

After that unfortunate saga, the bosun began to tell much nicer stories about the time before the white settlers arrived. His homeland seemed like an idyllic paradise during his childhood years. While the laws of the land involved a few cruel punishments, they were almost never applied as crimes had been extraordinarily rare. All in all, happiness and mirth had been widespread throughout the jungle villages.

Quicker than she realized, Pocahontas found herself mesmerized by the tales from Affrika. She wondered if she might ever see it in person. Another part of her mind was curious as to what Rolfe knew of it, if anything. As she recalled, he had listened to her recount the bosun’s tale in silence and given no indication regarding his familiarity with the country or culture. He had seemed far more concerned with her upset state of mind.

…

When land finally came into view a few days later, Pocahontas was swabbing the deck while Rolfe and the rest of the day shift manned the ship. As soon as Nine-Fingers cried land ho, everyone on deck dropped what they were doing and raced to the starboard side of the ship to get a look. Pocahontas was the first to get there as she had been the closest. While Flame ordered the crewmen back to work, Pocahontas swabbed the deck near the starboard side so she could get a better view as they neared the strange land.

The morning mist at first was enough to shroud everyone’s view of the subtropical land. It took the sun about thirty minutes to rise high enough to evaporate the mists entirely. When it did, the bosun found Pocahontas staring jaw-dropped at the bizarre alien landscape. He walked up behind her and placed his hands on the railing as he looked out over the dense expanse of mangroves and saw palmettos. “Strange, isn’t it?” he remarked after a few moments of quiet observation.

Pocahontas nodded. “I never seen such land. It seems impossible to walk through.”

“Not impossible,” the bosun replied. “It helps to have a machete though,” he added, pulling one out of his belt and spinning it in the air. He caught it by the handle and showed it to her. “You chop as you go,” he explained with a few demonstrative thrusts. “The sharp blade can cut through large saplings in one swipe. Of course a native Affrikaan needs no such implement but the pale men who came used them.”

Pocahontas frowned at the suggestion of mutilating the land just to pass through but she took the machete out of curiosity anyway and examined it. “It seems heavy.”

“The weight helps put power into the swing,” he explained. She tried to hand it back to him but he did not accept. “Keep it. I have another. It is about time you earned your first weapon anyway, boy,” he asserted, turning to return to his post.

Pocahontas nodded and thanked him as she went back to examining the blade. She barely tested it on the wooden railing, peeling away a paper-thin grain. It was very sharp indeed. She would have to be careful with it or at least find a sheath for it. The Bosun had none as he simply wore the item loosely tied to his belt.

Pocahontas tied the hilt to her own belt, aiming the sharp side away from her pants. Somehow she felt proud of it. The bosun had said she had earned it after all. She presumed he meant on account of her dedication to her daily sword practice. She had not even moved beyond the blunt wooden blade yet and now she already owned a weapon.

The only other weapon she had experience with was the longbow. Though the men in her village disapproved, she always wanted to be as skilled as they were for reasons she could not place. She had never shown an interest in any war weapons, such as the tomahawk, mainly because they were used almost exclusively to kill enemies.

She continued to ogle the bizarre coastline, pondering the exotic animals and peoples that might lie beyond what she could see. The fruit supply had been running low on the ship because Pocahontas and Rolfe had been hoarding fruits. As a result, Pocahontas had overheard the crew asking to dock so they could gather more from the forest. It was to everyone’s disappointment that Flame announced the ship would not be docking at all since hostile natives were rumored to inhabit the area. Pocahontas sighed and wondered what the dense landscape would be like to explore.

She got bored eventually and went back to her duties, swabbing the deck clean of any and all dirt and debris. As pirates always wore dirty boots and never bathed, this had turned out to be a tri-weekly chore for her. She did not mind though as the mindless activity gave her time to think. With the _Blood Draw_ some miles ahead of them, it was a mere speck on the horizon. Bleud and Flame had agreed to meet up again before passing St. Augustine as they planned to sneak past the settlement in the dead of night.

Peering up at the riggings, Pocahontas observed John Rolfe as he appeared to be deep in thought. She figured he was probably trying to think up a way to get around this new development as the whole crew would be up and about at that time. He had initially hoped they would be able to sneak off at night when most of the pirates were asleep but Bleud and Flame had come up with a different set of plans. They wanted to avoid detection because St. Augustine had been rearmed lately after the last pirate attack. The settlement held no interest to them so they merely wished to avoid it by sailing a little further out to sea as they passed by.

When the winds evened out again in the early evening, Rolfe was relieved from his duties earlier than expected. He asked Flame if he could venture down to the hold to assist the cabin boy in carrying heavy bushels of potatoes and other items up to the galley. The captain merely shrugged and gave his consent.

John Rolfe met Pocahontas down in the hold minutes after and revealed his new plan. He figured they would wait until the ships approached the coastline again after passing the settlement. Then they would take flight. Due to the direction of the prevailing winds at that point, it would be more difficult for the two ships to backtrack and try to hunt them down. After that they would simply hike north through the hammocks on up to St. Augustine where they would finally be safe from the pirates.

Pocahontas nodded her agreement with the idea as she finished peeling her very last potato. Rolfe hefted up the cauldron with little effort and kissed her on the cheek. “Just think. In a few more days, we’ll never have to cross paths with any of these God-forsaken brutes again!” he said in a voice laden with hope and triumph.

Pocahontas started to jump up and down in excitement as did Meeko and Percy. Flit zipped around in circles. Rolfe chuckled but said, “It’s a bit early to celebrate, love. Let’s save the festivities for when we arrive in St. Augustine. I think you’re going to love the French, Pocahontas. They’re quite well known for their delicious cuisine and tasty cheeses. Oh and the pastries they make—delicious!”

“I can’t wait!” Pocahontas exclaimed. She would have jumped on him in glee if he had not been carrying a heavy load. “And then after that, I can’t wait to get home. I wonder how Nakoma’s been doing—and my father. I wonder if we’re having a good harvest this year and I really miss Grandmother Wi—” she suddenly stopped herself in the nick of time and then turned towards Rolfe to think of a quick cover-up. When Rolfe raised an eyebrow, Pocahontas ran to his side and kissed him on the lips. “Let’s just say, I have a lot of people I want you to meet,” she concluded, leaving the subject at that.

The distraction worked. Rolfe smiled and nodded. “I better get this food to the cook before he gets impatient,” he said, turning toward the door. Pocahontas shuffled over and opened it for him. “Thank you, love,” he said as he left the hold. She followed behind him and they parted ways when they reached the upper level. Pocahontas went to find Flame for her next duty and Rolfe made his way to the galley.

For the rest of the day, Pocahontas went about her chores with a spring in her step. Not only was she thrilled about setting foot on solid land again but she was starting to feel more confident that her father might actually consent to her union with John Rolfe. The chief’s primary concern in pairing her with someone had always been her safety. He wanted her to marry a strong warrior whom he trusted to protect her.

Pocahontas doubted there were many men in the whole wide world who could have done what Rolfe had done. Most of the men she had known throughout her life given the same situation would not have hesitated to cross blades with the pirates. They would have been killed of course as the numbers had been overwhelming. Then Pocahontas would have been at the pirates’ mercy—of which they had none.

On the other hand, John Rolfe’s plan had been ingenious. He had shown far more concern for Pocahontas’s safety than for his own pride and had effectively rescued her from a dreadful fate with his quick thinking. If that was not something Chief Powhatan would give Rolfe credit for, then she would be most astounded.

…

Supper in the mess hall was not as boisterous as usual as the rum supply had nearly dried up. While this made the crew less prone to random acts of stupidity, it also made them far more irritable than usual. For this reason Pocahontas found John Rolfe sitting apart from the rest of the men. He clearly did not want to become anyone’s punching bag again this evening. The bruises were still healing from his previous encounters.

Aside from that Rolfe simply wanted to be alone so he could think, checking and double-checking all of the preparations in his mind. He had hidden a supply pack in the storage compartment of the cock boat they were planning to hijack. As a precaution though, he kept the king’s order and Pocahontas’s necklace hidden on his person at all times.

Rolfe hardly even noticed that Pocahontas was delivering his meal until she was literally standing right over him. He jolted in panic when his peripheral vision decided that it was another pirate attacking him. The Englishman placed a hand to his chest in relief when he recognized his disguised lady friend. “Oh! Hello, cabin boy. You gave me a bit of a start. Thank you,” he greeted, turning his attention to the meal. He could see the concern in Pocahontas’s eyes yet he dared not acknowledge it in front of the others. _We’ll be out of here soon enough, love,_ he thought. _Soon enough._

Pocahontas sighed and moved on to the next table where she heard some of the men bellyaching about the current situation. “I’m telling you, men… if I canna get me hands on a wench, chest of gold, or bottle of rum in the next day or three I’m going to blow someone’s bleedin’ brains out,” griped Bloodlet Bernard, a pirate of Scottish origin who also happened to be the ship’s master gunner.

After three weeks of exposure to piracy lingo, Pocahontas had learned that ‘wench’ was some kind of synonym for woman. The bosun had implied that wenches did not include maidens. Pocahontas worried that she did not yet know the full implications of the term.

Somewhat tired from the day’s activities, Pocahontas decided to shrug off the thought until she heard the next cur speak in reply. “Maybe the cap’n’ll let us go ashore now. There’ve got to be some Injun villages around here somewhere. We’ll snatch a few wenches to hold us over and toss ‘em overboard later or sell ‘em in Tortuga. What say you, men? Flame is not an unreasonable man. I’m sure he’ll listen if we explain how much it’ll improve the men’s morale, eh? ‘Sides, what’s he afraid of? We’ve got the bigger guns anywho,” he said, flailing his pistol around in the air.

Pocahontas felt her heart stop when the man’s morbid suggestion received a round of cheers from his companions. Rolfe overheard as well as he was eating nearby and felt his stomach churn. He had to foil their plan somehow, more than anything because he feared that Pocahontas would not be able to hold her tongue if forced to witness something like that. However their fears were soon put to rest when the captain made an appearance.

“I’ll tell you men what,” the scarred man suggested, strutting over to the table. “If we come upon a ship, you’re free to have your way with the wenches onboard. But I’m not having us waste time looking for a village that may or may not even exist. The mangroves are thick along the coast and not easy to get through, even with machetes.”

As irritated as the men were, they were able to see reason in the captain’s argument. However that did nothing to improve their moods one bit. Rolfe hurriedly devoured his meal and ducked out of the room before tempers really started to flare.

One great thing about Pocahontas’s friendship with the bosun—the one that Rolfe appreciated most of all—was the fact that nobody dared to see her as a target for their violent behaviors. Despite the threat the bosun posed to Rolfe himself, the Brit always felt better about leaving Pocahontas unattended with the pirates when the large man was about. The diplomat made his way out the door and glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of the bosun as Captain Flame joined his table. Rolfe gave Pocahontas one last glance as well. Seeing that she looked all right, he finally turned and left.

…

Rolfe retired to the sleeping quarters early as it had been a rather long day for him. Meanwhile Pocahontas found the bosun up on the deck after her shift was over. He was staring down into the dark Floridian waters in reminiscence. They talked for a while until he finally decided to retire and bade her good night. The large man took his leave, disappearing through one of the doors to the interior of the ship.

When Pocahontas found herself not following, she realized just how restless she was. She placed her elbows on the railing and overlapped her forearms, sighing deeply as she watched the nearly full moon rise from the dark horizon. The deck was mostly deserted except for the nighttime navigator Willem Gallows and three or four other sailors who were moving about, carrying out various duties.

With the winds strong and even, the ship sailed relatively fast through the dark ocean waters. Based on the black landmass in the distance, Pocahontas judged that they were somewhere between a half-mile and a mile from shore. The mystery behind the odd landscape eluded her. From what she had heard, many of the landmasses they passed were actually islands. They were allegedly connected to the mainland by narrow bridges of fine, cream-colored sand and were called ‘barrier islands’ because they were supposed to protect the mainland from fierce storms that were frequent in the area.

Pocahontas heard a sudden loud noise like water being blown through a geyser hole. She jolted at first and looked toward the ocean water at the bow of the ship. Not far from the hull she glimpsed a giant glistening fishtail as it rose up and slapped the water. Gallows heard the noise as well and strutted over to the starboard side by Pocahontas. “Looks to be a killer whale, lad. Fierce beasts, those. I heard of one biting a man’s head clean off when they get into a feeding frenzy. Legend in Tortuga has it they can eat the bottom out from under a ship. Best we head a bit further out to sea until we pass ‘em.”

Pocahontas blinked in surprise as the man turned, shouting orders to the small crew to shift the sails eastward. “Are they really like that?” she asked, worriedly placing a finger upon her lower lip. “Have you ever seen one of them attack a person?”

Gallows turned back to Pocahontas with a gleam in his eye. “Not with me own eyes, boy. But I have my sources. Better safe than sorry I always say. Best to avoid those waters where legends abound. If I had me way, we wouldn’t even be taking this route. But the cap’n has the final word and I ain’t the cap’n,” he expressed.

Pocahontas nodded. She looked out to sea again and observed that they were retreating farther and farther away from the land. She glanced a pod of the black-and-white beasts heading south. They were not far away from the ship yet but given a few more minutes heading in different directions, they would be. She jumped when she heard Gallows speak again. “Now unless ye plan to retire to the crew’s sleeping quarters, lad, I suggest you make yourself useful and help me set up the cast net in case those nasty sea-vermin should attempt to follow us,” he said. “We’re woefully low on staff this time o’ night.”

The creatures did not really look that mean to Pocahontas but she obeyed anyway. She walked down to the main deck with Gallows and helped him throw open the top of a large wooden container stored by the main mast. She pulled part of the large net out with her hands and scrutinized it. “This looks confusing,” she noted.

“Aye but it’s easier than you think. Just reach up and grab one of those large hooks hanging overhead,” Gallows instructed, doing the same to demonstrate the procedure. He hooked the line onto a thick metal hoop on one corner of the net.

Pocahontas had to hop up to be able to reach one on her side. She grabbed it and weighed it down, effectively spinning the pulley it was attached to give herself more slack. She held onto the hook as she searched through the mass of netting for a metal ring. When she found it, she hooked it on like Gallows had done. “Now do the other one and then I recommend you go get some shuteye, lad,” he said, doing the same on the opposite side.

Pocahontas found the other metal ring in the netting, pulling it out for easy access. Glancing up, she spotted the second hook slightly higher than the first. When she jumped up to grab it however, she missed at first. She tried again. This time her fingers missed it but the loose sleeve of her collared men’s shirt did not. The pulley turned out to be badly rusted. As Pocahontas started to descend, the metal hook tore her shirt halfway off.

Pocahontas stumbled on her feet and gasped, gazing up at the wide-eyed navigator like a doe caught in a hunter’s torchlight. Gallows stared back at her in jaw-dropped silence for an extended moment, trying to process what he was seeing. The corset wrapped around her torso was not the dead giveaway so much as the swell right at the top. She watched in horror as the man’s puzzled expression slowly curled upwards into an ominous grin. “’Tis a wench!” cried one of the other crewmen as he swung down a rope from one of the lower sails, landing about twenty paces from her.

Pocahontas squealed and tried to scramble away but the shirt was still caught on the hook and her arm was still wrapped in the other sleeve. “Looks like the devil answered our prayers, men,” Gallows echoed back. He rounded the net container and pushed another pirate out of the way as he closed in on her. Pocahontas could see the rest of the night crew climbing down from the riggings in her peripheral vision, hooting and hollering loudly. She turned and tugged madly at the caught shirt but Gallows was upon her in an instant with his thick fingers wrapped around her slender neck.

She felt her heart pounding in her chest when suddenly she heard a thump. Her attacker’s back snapped straight. The leer fell from his face in an instant and his grip on her throat weakened. Before Pocahontas knew it, he had collapsed on his belly in front of her. The handle of a dagger protruded from his upper back, right along the spine.

As Pocahontas stared down at the dead navigator, her ears detected the clatter of swords over the yelling of the other night crewmen. She glanced up again and watched as John Rolfe withdrew his blood-splattered blade from the belly of a rigger, spinning around in one smooth motion to shear another assailant’s head clean off the shoulders. As more of the night crew surrounded him, the Englishman fought with a ferocity she had not seen since Kocoum attacked John Smith a half-decade ago.

Though Rolfe suffered a painful gash, he disarmed the last two opponents and found an opening to run towards her. “Pocahontas, you have to swim to shore,” he cried as he used his sword to cut her shirt free from the hook. He gathered her up on his shoulder in a rush and leaped up the stairs to quarterdeck as a few more pirates emerged from below deck. Arriving at the starboard side, he did not hesitate for an instant to chuck her overboard. Rolfe gasped when he looked up and saw the land farther away than expected. “Damn!” he cursed to himself. A stunned Pocahontas surfaced in the warm dark waters. “Swim with all your might, Pocahontas! I’ll follow!” he cried down to her. He heard her cough a bit. To his relief, she quickly gathered her wits. The young woman turned away from the ship and launched her body into a smooth front crawl as she made for land.

Rolfe immediately turned to the cock boat a short way down the deck—the one they had planned to steal. There was no time to launch it now but he knew without doubt they would need the survival provisions the supply compartment contained.

“The wench is getting away!” another furious voice came. “Get her, you idiots! I’ll deal with the traitor!” It was Spike-Eyes, the silent one that had freed them from the prison cell all those weeks ago. A subordinate made to dive into the water on the starboard side but Rolfe threw his sword with miraculous aim, spearing the man right through the heart as he dove overboard. The dead body made a sizable splash and then sank to the depths.

John Rolfe jumped down to the main deck and robbed the dead navigator of his weapon and land map. Rolfe had to make it to the cock boat and then to the stern to drop the anchor. He had to buy them time to swim to shore—the more the better. With the anchor down, Flame would have to rouse the whole crew to pull it back up.

“FLIT!” Rolfe shouted at the top of his lungs. It took him about twenty seconds to make it to the cock boat, disarming a copper-skinned man along the way by shearing off his sword-wielding hand. The pirate fell screaming to the deck, holding his wrist as blood spurted from the wound. The Englishman tore the top off the compartment and grabbed the supply pack. He stuffed the land map inside and draped the pack over his torso. Just then the aforementioned hummingbird arrived in a panicked frenzy.

“Flit, we’re escaping! Pocahontas is in the water. Tell Percy and Meeko to jump overboard and follow us to shore!” John Rolfe instructed, running down the length of the ship towards the stern at breakneck speed. Flit buzzed alongside him, taking a moment to glance into the waters beyond the ship. When the hummingbird saw Pocahontas swimming away, he turned back to Rolfe and gave a nod. As Rolfe reached the anchor, there was more clattering from down below. The men in the sleeping quarters had been roused. Rolfe swallowed hard, realizing with trepidation just how pissed the pirates were going to be soon enough. He had to get away so he kicked back the anchor stop and made straight for the starboard side. The anchor fell heavily, splashing in the dark depths.

Just then Flame emerged from his quarters, cutting off the diplomat’s path. “What the bloody hell is going on?!” the crotchety captain raged. He met ice-cold eyes with Rolfe. The Brit immediately gritted his teeth in apprehension and backed away. From what Rolfe had seen of Flame’s fencing abilities during practice, the scarred man was not one to be crossed or to cross blades with.

“The cabin boy, captain!” cried one of the voices. “Not a young boy at all but a full-grown wench! They’ve deceived us, the two of them!”

Rolfe did not wait for the captain’s response to the shocking news. He sheathed his sword, turned tail, and dove over the port side of the ship. He used the weight of the sword to dive deep down under the ship’s hull, passing beneath the keel to the starboard side. This worked as a momentary distraction as the flustered crew focused its attentions on the port side thinking he would resurface there.

“COWARD!” Flame raced over to the port side and emptied the bullets in his pistol into the black water. When he ran out he screamed in fury, chucking the whole gun into the sea. “Where is he?!” the Irishman raged, clinging to the rail as he waited for Rolfe to surface. He grabbed an underling by the shirt collar and threw him overboard. “Find him or it be fifty lashes for ye!” he shouted as the man fell screaming. The captain turned dangerous eyes to the rest of the crew. “Riggers up to the riggings! The deserters are fools if they think they can out-swim us! Turn this ship landward!” he commanded.

“The anchor’s down, sir!” shouted another voice.

“Cut it loose, fool!” Flame roared. When the young pirate took too long to saw through the thick rope with his dagger, the captain strutted over and sheared through the man’s belly with his sword. He was about to cut the anchor line next but he suddenly felt intense pain in his ankle. If it were not for his own screaming, he would have heard Percy snarling at him as the pug dog tried to pull him away from the anchor line. The pain made Flame drop his sword. Meeko quickly snatched it and dragged it out of reach, causing the captain to let loose a furious howl.

Another voice called over to Flame from the starboard side. “He’s swum under the ship, captain! Rolfe is on the starboard side! They’re heading for shore! I can’t even see the wench anymore, too dark! She can’t have gotten far though!”

Flame kicked Percy off of him with a ferocious growl and shouted back, “Shoot him, you nitwit! Shoot ‘im in his bloody head!”

The pirate scrambled for his pistol and accidentally dropped it overboard. He looked back at the infuriated captain with sheer panic written all over his face. Seeing the death warrant in Flame’s eyes, the doomed man dove off the side of the ship himself to flee. The possibility of attack by hostile natives was a dream compared to Flame’s guaranteed Irish temper any day. Other men were shooting into the water to appease Flame so Rolfe dove down deep to avoid the bullets zipping by.

The riggers had taken position and were turning the sails as ordered. This positive development only improved Flame’s mood slightly. He grabbed a dead pirate’s rapier by its hilt and severed the anchor’s line. The ship bobbed up free of the tether as the bow started to turn toward land in the nighttime breeze. “Full sail ahead!” Flame shouted.

Rolfe resurfaced for a gasping breath much further away. Meanwhile Meeko and Percy dove off the starboard side to join their human friends, just barely avoiding the slice of swords. Flit buzzed around a few heads to make the gunners’ aims less accurate. “What the bloody hell is that thing?!” one of the pirates cried just before he fell backwards over the ship’s railing thanks to Flit’s constant harassment.

Pocahontas stopped swimming and turned back toward the ship, relieved to finally see John Rolfe in the water behind her. She spotted Meeko and Percy closer to the ship, treading water in her direction as well.

“Drop your rifles, men! Those two have given up the right to a quick death. I want them both captured alive!” Flame wailed, jumping up onto the bow railing and pointing his sword in the direction of the fugitives. Even John Rolfe had paddled far away enough to have faded into the blackness. “I want the Brit and Injun wench back onboard in less than fifteen minutes! Or I’ll have the lot of you flogged!”

“Aye, sir!” returned the whole crew in unison. The ship began gaining speed as the crew worked together to adjust the sails.

John Rolfe swam with all his might without even once glancing backwards. Before he knew it, he bumped into another body. “Pocahontas, what are you doing here? You should’ve gotten much farther away by now!” he exclaimed.

“I had to wait for you!” the young woman insisted.

John Rolfe shot a glance over his shoulder and panicked. “They’re going to gain on us fast!” he contended, coughing up some water.

Pocahontas recognized quickly that Rolfe appeared to be having trouble staying afloat. “What’s wrong?” she asked, grabbing hold of his shirt.

“The sword, it’s weighing me down! I’m so tired. Pocahontas, you must go on ahead. Get to safety no matter what happens!” he cried, gurgling as water rushed into his mouth.

Pocahontas narrowed her eyes at John Rolfe and reached down to his waist, using her machete to cut through the leather scabbard belt. The sword and its paraphernalia dropped to the seabed before Rolfe could even catch it. “I needed that, Pocahontas! I need some kind of weapon. Now we’re completely defenseless against them!”

“What we need is to get to shore,” Pocahontas argued, tugging him along. “Come on!”

“I can’t make it. I don’t have the strength. I’ll distract them while you escape!” Rolfe replied, kicking alongside her weakly. “And I’m bleeding. Sharks will come soon. You have to get away from me while you still have the chance. Please, Pocahontas! I couldn’t bear it if the pirates caught you. I know what they’ll do. Please, swim away!”

“No!” Pocahontas screamed at the top of her lungs, gasping when Rolfe sank a bit below the surface. She grabbed a hold of him and pulled him back up. Not a trained warrior, the diplomat was unused to such exertion. While he had performed heroically at the outset, he could not keep it up without years of proper training—which he lacked.

As the ship drew closer, the torchlights began to illuminate them once more. “I’ve spotted ‘em, men! Prepare the net!” Flame shouted triumphantly.

“Demon fish!” howled a pirate, the same dumb blond who had gotten himself flogged by the bosun weeks back. He pointed with a shaky finger at something churning in the waters off the starboard side. “They’s going to eat the bottom out from under the ship!”

Captain Flame rolled his eyes and grabbed hold of another man’s pistol. He shot at the blond, who ducked for cover behind the mast. Pocahontas glanced around and spotted the black fins in the water. There were about three between them and the ship. The young woman gasped and held onto Rolfe in fright. She had not been prepared to trust the word of Willem Gallows entirely but neither was she prepared to have her head bitten off.

Pocahontas heaved in terror when something large and slippery rose up between her legs, lifting her and John Rolfe clean out of the water. Rolfe’s body was semi-limp so she held him in place by his belt and grasped the animal’s protruding black fin behind her to keep them from slipping off. Gasping for breath, Pocahontas met eyes with the majestic creature as the ocean water began to rush by. They were moving—fast. The killer whale was carrying them away. But where was it taking them and why?

Flame looked to the waters and spotted his quarry moving away. With the whale camouflaged in the night-black water, it appeared to the crew that Pocahontas and Rolfe had suddenly begun to swim at an inhuman speed. “Witchcraft!” one of the men cried.

“After them!” Flame commanded the crew, ignoring the superstitious idiot. “Turn the sails, they’re headed northwest!”

“The winds aren’t favorable, cap’n! We won’t go as fast!” another replied.

Flame turned to gun the naysayer down but discovered he was out of bullets again. He chucked the gun into the water with a snarl. “I’ll get them! I’ll get them if it’s the last thing I ever do! NO ONE MAKES A FOOL OF FINLEY FLAME!”

…

Pocahontas had not realized how long they had been on the orca’s back. Her body trembled in exhaustion. She heard a bark and glanced to her left to see Meeko and Percy riding merrily along on their own orca. Flit zipped by in the air. Pocahontas sent a prayer of thanks to the Great Spirit for watching over them all and leaving no one behind.

The Powhatan woman had no idea where they were headed. From Rolfe’s weak movements beneath her, he seemed to be conscious but completely drained and disoriented. Pocahontas’s left arm got tired from holding onto the animal’s fin so she switched to her right arm and used her left to hold onto Rolfe instead.

Though Pocahontas’s sight turned pitch-black when the ship’s firelight disappeared, her night vision came alive after a few minutes in the darkness. The millions of stars above bounced off the gentle waves as they rode along. She felt so calm that she let her eyes fall closed and did not open them again until she felt her leg bump into something. Jolting slightly in surprise, she realized she had almost let go of Rolfe. She strengthened her grip on his belt and then discovered that they had come to a stop in calm water.

The whale ejected water loudly from its blowhole. Pocahontas’s hand came into contact with solid dirt and gnarled roots as she reached to see what had touched her. She glanced about to reorient herself to her surroundings and saw Meeko and Percy hop off their own orca’s back onto the solid land up ahead. The water was surprisingly deep here though the mangroves kept the dirt from eroding along with the seabed below.

Pocahontas heard Rolfe groan. She grabbed a firm hold of one of the thicker roots, letting their bodies slip off the orca’s back and into the warm saltwater. She held Rolfe’s head and shoulders above the surface as he sluggishly groped around the projecting mangrove roots. “Where… where are we?” he murmured in a weak voice.

“Safe, I think,” Pocahontas softly replied. When he got a solid grip on the roots, she lifted herself out of the water and sat down with her legs folded beneath her. Turning back, she tugged on Rolfe’s shirt as he shakily tried to crawl onto land as well. They were having a great deal of difficulty until the orca came round again and used its nose to lift the Englishman’s rump clean out of the water, thrusting him right up onto the land. He collapsed belly-down on the firm earth as the animal lingered.

Pocahontas placed her hand on the whale’s nose as Rolfe breathed steadily, resting to regain his strength. _“Thank you,”_ she whispered to the gentle giant. The creature made a repetitive clicking noise and bobbed its head up and down in acknowledgment. As the orca withdrew, Pocahontas’s hand fell out of contact with it. She stared out after the beneficent pod as they turned and disappeared below the dark waves.


	4. Smoke and Ashes

****Pocahontas took the supply pack from John Rolfe and pulled his shirt up to examine the wound. It appeared to be a relatively shallow gash along his ribcage but the dense mangroves obscured the moon- and starlight, making it difficult to see. Flit came over to look as well, appearing very concerned. “I’m sure he’ll be okay, Flit,” Pocahontas said. When Meeko and Percy joined them, Meeko sniffed the gash in curiosity. The shirt was bloodstained but it was not bleeding as much as before.

Pocahontas pulled off the remaining half of her sopping male shirt, wrung it out, and wrapped it tightly around Rolfe’s injured torso. “Ouch,” he murmured in a low tone.

“Sorry, John. I just want to stop the bleeding,” Pocahontas said, applying a little more pressure. “It doesn’t look too bad but it’s hard to tell without enough light.”

“It’s the saltwater, love. It burns like fire,” John Rolfe expressed, hissing in pain. “Thought I was going to pass out when I first dove into the water. Can’t believe I made it so far. How did we get to land? Did the current carry us in?”

Pocahontas paused, narrowing her eyes. “Not quite… Maybe we can find a freshwater river around here somewhere to wash out the salt. It would be nice to get a bath too,” she remarked, casually changing the subject.

“No kidding. I’ve actually got a skin of water in the supply pack so I’d like to wash it now. It’s hurting pretty badly,” he expressed, groping for the bag over his shoulder. He could not find it and immediately panicked. “Oh no! Did I lose it?” he cried.

“No,” Pocahontas replied. “I have it right here.” She reached in the pack and found the skin of water. After she untied the binding around Rolfe’s torso, she gently used the water to rinse the wound out. Rolfe hissed but seemed to relax a moment later when the stinging from the salt gradually subsided. “Better?” she inquired.

Rolfe nodded sluggishly. After resting a bit, he unsteadily pushed himself off the sandy soil and into a sitting position with Pocahontas’s assistance. “I can’t… I can’t seriously believe we’re alive,” he breathed, laughing miserably. He glanced at the black waters and gritted his teeth in fear when he spotted three sharp, grayish fins encircling the area.

Pocahontas saw them too and whispered a thanks to the spirits of the whales. Not only had the majestic creatures rescued them from the pirates but they had also rescued them from the sharks. She figured the predatory fish had followed Rolfe’s blood trail in the water but thankfully the orcas had out-swam them to land.

“Well I don’t know about you but I think we can wait until morning to dry our clothes out. A fire in the daylight is less easily spotted. Thank goodness it’s so warm here or we would have to worry about freezing to death,” Rolfe expressed, shakily rising to his feet. He hit his head lightly on the branch of a mangrove, making himself grunt.

Pocahontas suddenly gasped and Rolfe looked down at her as her eyes filled to the brim with tears. “What is it, love?” he inquired.

“My mother’s necklace… It must still be on the ship! I’ll never see it again!” she cried. Rolfe frowned at her and produced said necklace from one of his trouser pockets. Pocahontas’s eyes widened and she grabbed it. “But I thought…” she began, examining the treasured item closely to ensure she was not dreaming.

“I only hid it below the floorboards at first because I feared the pirates might search us. Later I retrieved it and kept it on my person. I’ve got the king’s order too,” John Rolfe lauded, patting the long bulge on the side of his drenched trousers. He reached into the supply pack and produced the sopping wet map, frowning. “Hm. Well good thing the king’s order is in a sealed container at least,” he grumbled. “Maybe this thing will dry if I hang it on a branch,” he theorized, doing just that.

Pocahontas put her necklace on and reached for the machete on her belt. She used the sharp edge to slice the top rim of the corset. After she tore the dreadful garment off, she tossed it aside. Then she undid her belt and pulled off the soaking wet trousers as well as the linen binding Rolfe had used to flatten her buttocks. Her buckskin dress was filthy as everything else she had worn but she still felt immensely relieved to be free of the corset. “I think the first thing we need to do is find a freshwater river,” she said.

“Agreed,” Rolfe replied, mindlessly flipping off his wet shirt and ringing it out. “There’s a lot of things here I need to clean other than just myself.” He tossed the shirt over a branch and drained some of the ocean water out of the survival pack. Lastly he reached in to check the contents. “I figure the bread is pretty much ruined,” he griped as his hand came out covered in white mush. “Yuck,” he said, flicking it off. “However we do have enough waterproof provisions to last us until we reach St. Augustine. I figure it can’t be more than thirty miles from here though I’ll check the map when it dries just to be sure.”

Rolfe looked around the area briefly. “It’s pretty humid here. We’ll definitely need either the sun or a fire to completely dry everything out. That will have to wait. I say we start hiking inland to find us a river like you suggested. What say you, love? …love?” he repeated when she failed to answer. He glanced at her. “Pocahontas?”

Pocahontas seemed distracted so John Rolfe followed her blank gaze to his own bare chest and abdominals. His face turned red and he snatched his damp shirt from the branch to obscure her view. “I say! Focus, Pocahontas! We’re still in a survival situation and we’ll need to stay on task if we’re to get back to Virginia alive.”

Pocahontas blinked, coming out of her trance. It was a good thing it was so dark or else he would have seen her flushed face. “Right… yes. Let’s go find a river,” she uttered, turning away. She shot him a last fleeting glance over her shoulder and then led the way into the mangrove swamp. Meeko and Percy immediately trod after her, whereas Flit buzzed ahead to scout the terrain for dangers. Rolfe tied the shirt around his waist and folded up the map, placing it back in the supply pack. He gathered the pack on his shoulder, following Pocahontas and the others into the unknown.

Getting around through the dense shrubbery was not easy but they refrained from using the machete for fear of leaving a noticeable trail that the pirates could follow. At least that was Rolfe’s main reason. He made sure to bring all of their things, including the ruined corset, in order to leave as few hints behind as possible.

Pocahontas was far superior at navigating through the difficult landscape so John Rolfe clumsily tried to copy every lithe movement she made. He ended up bumping his head on branches more often than not but he was determined to keep up with her. The good news, if there was any, was the land’s flatness. It was an immense relief to Rolfe that they would not have to engage in any risky mountain climbs. Working the riggings on the ship had done nothing to assuage his fear of heights. It had only made it worse.

As they traveled further inland, the dense coastal mangroves gave way to a hardwood hammock filled with live oak, mahogany, and red maple trees among many others. Many of the plants were unlike anything Pocahontas had seen before. Her curiosity spurred her to want to examine everything more closely in the daylight. Rolfe was happy to get away from the dense shrubbery of the mangroves but the forest floor was not that much easier to get through. It was piled high with uneven debris and fallen tree trunks.

As usual Pocahontas had little to no trouble getting around. She did not even require much light because she instinctively groped the environment with her hands and feet before proceeding further. On the other hand, John Rolfe was left to stumble and flounder his way blindly over gnarled roots, fallen logs, and branches. He wound up on his rear end much more often than he would have liked.

They had not gone far into the forest before Flit returned and promptly signaled them to follow. Pocahontas glanced back at Rolfe. “I think he’s found something!” she declared. The Powhatan woman took to a jog, deftly jumping over fallen logs and ducking under low-lying branches. “Come on, John!” she called back to the slack-jawed Englishman.

“Hold on, Pocahontas! I can’t very well—Oomph!” Rolfe replied, finding himself with another face full of dirt and moss as he tripped over a large root. It was too late though because Pocahontas, Meeko, and Flit had already disappeared through the brush. Fortunately Percy was kind enough to stay behind and keep an eye on the clumsy human. All Rolfe could do was push himself up and attempt to follow in the canopy-dimmed starlight. About twenty minutes later, Rolfe was just beginning to get the hang of walking through the dense woods when the moonlit end of the hammock canopy came into view. He and Percy heard the sound of Pocahontas’s laughter up ahead, followed by a splash.

Rolfe looked down to his canine companion. “Well I guess she’s found clean water,” he announced, chuckling. Percy yipped and scampered off through a thicket. Rolfe was too big to follow the same path as the pug so he had to climb over a thick lichen-covered log to escape the forest. Though it looked quite sturdy, Rolfe quickly discovered how deceiving appearances could be. The bark did not hold to the wood due to moisture and decay hidden beneath the surface. Just as he boosted himself up he promptly slid back rear-first into a patch of sandy burrs, yelping loud enough for the others to hear.

Pocahontas and Meeko stopped playing and turned toward the edge of the hammock. “John, are you okay?” she called into the trees. All she heard in response was a series of low noises that sounded like angry griping. She could not quite make out the words so she turned to the hummingbird. “Flit! Go check on him, will you?” The tiny bird gave a quick nod and dutifully zipped off into the forest.

The first thing Flit encountered when he entered the forest was the Englishman hopping around madly, muttering a slew of very ungentlemanly terms regarding demon shrubbery from the pits of hell. Ever the analytical type, the hummingbird examined the plant that had caused all the fuss and then flew behind Rolfe to assess the damage. There were about a hundred stickers embedded in the diplomat’s trousers from just under his belt to all the way down the length of his thighs.

Rolfe bit his lip and glanced over his shoulder. “Is… i-is it bad?” he whimpered in an apprehensive tone. Flit merely chirped, spat on each of his wings, rubbed them together, and grabbed a hold of the first sticker with his pin-like beak. “N-n-no, wait! You can’t just—AH-AH-AHH!!” he cried as Flit tore the offending item out.

…

With a furious growl, Flame threw a dagger into a marked point on the ship’s spare land map. It was pinned to the wall just outside his cabin. The crew watched in dead silence as the angry captain began to pace. “We know where they’re headed, cap’n,” Legless said, breaking the quietude. “Where else would they go? The only question remaining is do we try ‘n track ‘em through the wilderness or wait for ambush outside St. Augustine?”

“Both,” Flame spat, shooting the first mate a stone-cold glare. “I sent three search parties to shore to fire three shots if they find anything. But the fugitives probably know we’re going to look for ‘em. The question is do we signal Bleud to turn back the _Draw_? If they somehow make it to St. Augustine, we’ll need both ships to raid the settlement. There’s no way we can take the colony alone. The French surely have scouts out and about to watch for Injun attacks. Setting up an ambush won’t be easy.”

In the back of his mind, Finley Flame knew Bleud would not be pleased to learn of the new development. He would most likely blame Flame for being the one to vouch for the fugitives’ acceptance in the first place. In all his years of pirating prior, Flame had never allowed someone to put him in a bad position with the head captain. However the thought of failing to catch his quarry was too unbearable to ponder. He turned to the head gunner. “Give the signal,” he solemnly said. “We’re going to take St. Augustine.”

“Aye, sir,” Bloodlet replied, running off and shouting orders to the other gunners. The crew spurred to life once the captain had made his decision. There would be many casualties for the crew but Flame and Bleud staked their reputations on leaving no survivors. Devil willing, Flame was determined that the two escapees would not be the first to destroy the notoriety he and the rest of the crew had worked so hard to build. He would hunt them to the ends of the earth if he had to and beyond.

The scarred captain grunted in anger and strode to the ship’s starboard side. He found the bosun standing silently, staring into the dark waves as the moonlight danced off of them. The swarthy pirate crossed his arms over his bare chest in contemplation. “Well?!” Flame snapped at the taller man. There was only the slightest shift in the black man’s demeanor. “You’re so silent all the time, o great cat-bearer. One might think you weren’t even pissed a wench got away with one of your machetes. A wench!”

After a brief pause, the bosun uncrossed his arms and leaned forward onto the railing. Flame waited impatiently for him to say something. He finally spoke. “I knew… that there was something. When they joined the crew. I could not put my finger on it. I thought it was just the white man. In fact I was sure it was him. He was obviously hiding something,” he considered, letting the thought hang.

Flame blinked and knitted his brows. “Some help you are,” he snapped in annoyance, parading away. The sky cracked with cannon fire. Three times in a row went the signal. The bosun made no reply and stared out over the waters to the distant light. He watched as the _Draw_ slowly turned back in their direction. A vision flashed through his mind that would have been terrifying to most. However the bosun was able to savor it like the last ember of a dying passion and a slight grin curled his lips upward in anticipation.

…

“I hate this land! I hate this forest! And I _especially_ hate these plants!” Rolfe seethed through clenched teeth as Flit relieved his backside of the ninetieth sticker. Hardly able to take it anymore, Rolfe lay limp over a storm-bent tree and prayed it would be over soon.

“You alright, John? Flit?” Pocahontas called from the river as she washed herself in the calm water. They were taking longer than she expected so she was concerned.

“Yes, love! Perfectly fine! I-I-I-I just dropped something. Um, um… Flit’s helping me find it. I’ll be there in a min-UTEE!!” he cried in a high-pitched voice right at the end as Flit pulled out a sticker that was buried particularly deep in his flesh.

Pocahontas rolled her eyes. “Well you don’t sound fine,” she sassed. With her body submerged in the water, she pulled off her buckskin dress and breechcloth and began to scrub them against each other to wash the three weeks’ worth of filth out. She could see them mucking up the water and she stuck out her tongue in disgust. When she finished washing her clothes, she wrung them out and left them hanging on a branch. Then she pulled her boots and men’s pants in from the riverbank and began to wash them as well. A bit further down the river, she watched Meeko and Percy splash around. Meeko appeared to be enjoying himself for the first time since the ill-fated voyage began.

Flit pulled out the last sticker and flew in front of John Rolfe, giving him a nod to indicate he had finished. “It’s over? Oh, thank God!” Rolfe cried. He reached back and felt around to find that all the sharp, painful burrs were indeed gone from his trousers. He shakily pushed himself up from the tree trunk and collected the survival pack over his shoulder again, begrudgingly thanking Flit for the agonizing but necessary favor. This time he was more careful when making his way over the rotten log. He managed to safely slide down and land on his feet on the other side.

The moonlit river came into view. Rolfe sighed in relief and headed down the bank, promptly covering his eyes when he spotted Pocahontas’s buckskin dress hanging from a tree branch. Pocahontas threw her short hair back as she emerged from the depths, spotting Rolfe up on the bank. “You made it! The water’s great. Come on in!” she said cheerfully. “Want me to wash your clothes for you, John?”

Rolfe flushed. “N-no thanks, love! I’ll do it. I’m going up the river a bit, around the bend. Call to me when you’re decent,” he nervously replied, making a beeline for the brush upriver. He quickly disappeared around the bend as he had promised. Pocahontas snorted and went back to washing herself. It felt good to have clean hair once again. She could not quite tell in the moonlight but it felt like she had developed a rash from the corset. Hence the freshwater was indescribably soothing on her itchy sore skin.

Upriver Rolfe dumped the contents of his pack onto a broad tree stump by the water. He had several apples, dried meats, cheeses, a half-full skin of water, three more empty skins for filling, flint and steel for fire, a compass, a bar of soap, a razor, razor strop, hair comb, and the wet map from the ship. However with the exception of the map, the items were all covered in white mush from the ruined bread. He washed each of them in the river and laid them to dry on the stump. Lastly he washed the pack itself inside and out.

Rolfe dove straight into the river and disrobed, using hardwood tree roots and the bar of soap to wash his clothes. He hung the garments on an overhead branch and then used the soap to wash himself. When he was done, he lathered up his face and shaved every last itchy hair follicle from his jaw, chin, and upper lip. He could hardly even remember how good it felt to be clean-shaven and he sent up a prayer of thanks for the current privilege.

John Rolfe was giving his clothes one last ring to remove moisture when he heard Pocahontas call to him. “John, I’m done!”

He called back, “Almost done here! I’ll be there in a minute, love!” He washed the soap off his face and the razor, folded the item up, and slipping it back into the washed survival pack. After brushing his hair out with the comb, he put all the items save the land map and compass back into the pack. Finally he put his damp clothes back on and tied his hair back in a ponytail as per the usual procedure.

When John Rolfe returned to Pocahontas, he was surprised to find her wearing her buckskin dress and the men’s pants and boots, complete with the machete on her belt. He could only assume it was because she did not want to have to carry the other items. When their eyes met, Pocahontas looked surprised to see Rolfe. “The hair on your face,” she uttered, examining him closely. “It’s gone!”

Rolfe blinked. “Yes, I brought a razor,” he casually explained, spreading out the map to examine it. While it was still damp, it had thankfully undergone very little water damage. Some of the ink had run a bit but it was still legible enough to be of use. “Now I figure we need to—” He ended his sentence abruptly when he felt Pocahontas’s soft hand on his cheek. “Yes, love?” he asked, glancing at her.

“It’s so smooth,” Pocahontas remarked, stroking his jawline.

Rolfe raised a brow before he took her hand from his face and kissed the back of it. “Pocahontas, you’ve seen me clean-shaven before. Now let’s focus so we can get to St. Aug—” he began, only to be silenced again when she threw her arms around his neck and pressed a tender kiss to his lips. His eyes snapped open in surprise at first but he did not resist and slowly slipped his arms around Pocahontas’s mid-section.

When she pulled back a few extended moments later, she held him close like she had the time he arrived in the Tower of London to rescue her. _“You saved my life,”_ she murmured in his ear. She pulled back as she gazed into his green eyes. “How did you know? I thought you’d gone to sleep. If you hadn’t shown up when you did—”

“Funny thing, that,” Rolfe blurted, folding the map. He scooped Pocahontas into his arms, strolling south down the river. “I was asleep actually. Quite fast asleep. I started having a dream about an enormous tree with long drooping leaves. It was shouting at me to wake up and save you. I know it sounds ridiculous but who said dreams have to make sense? At least my intuition was spot-on, don’t you think? Thank God for that.”

Pocahontas eyed him thoughtfully as he carried her along, pursing her lips. “Not as ridiculous as you might think. Anyway you can put me down now. I wouldn’t want you to trip while you’re carrying me. Where are we going?” she asked as he placed her back on her feet. Meeko, Percy, and Flit caught up with them.

“We’re heading south. I’m not sure of our precise location but St. Augustine should most assuredly be south of us. I figure we’ll follow this river until we reach the bay where the settlement is. I am sure the river will lead us there. If not we’ll keep following the coast until we come to it,” Rolfe replied. “All we have to do is watch out for pirates and possibly unfriendly tribes. Once we get to St. Augustine, we should be home-free.”

“That’s great,” Pocahontas lauded, giving a wide yawn.

Rolfe draped an arm around her waist as they walked. “I think it’s best if we wait until daylight to get some rest. Even though it’s warm here, we’ll probably feel cold if we try to go to sleep in wet clothes. Think you can hold out for another few hours, love?” he inquired, receiving a sleepy nod. “Good. I’m sure the sun will dry us right up. If not we’ll simply build ourselves a fire with the flint and steel I’ve brought.”

Suddenly they heard the sound of cannon fire in the far distance—three shots in a row. Pocahontas’s eyes widened and she held Rolfe’s arm, scared. “It’s them, isn’t it? Are they attacking a ship? Why are they firing?” Meeko, Percy, and Flit looked concerned too.

John Rolfe furrowed his brows in contemplation as he stared out in the southwesterly direction of the coast. “I’m not sure, Pocahontas. But whatever it is, it can’t be good. We’ve got to keep moving,” he concluded, picking up the pace.

…

Flame’s expectations regarding Captain Bleud’s reaction turned out to be misguided. While Bleud was certainly pissed to discover a Brit and a woman had hoodwinked the entire crew, he surprisingly did not lay the blame on anyone in particular—except the two tricksters, of course. After all the whole crew had bought the act. Everyone had been fooled so it seemed that everyone was equally guilty.

However Bleud did turn out to be even more impatient than Flame—if such a thing was even conceivable. He stalked around lower deck angrily as the crew waited to hear back from the search parties. After a few hours passed with no luck, Bleud commanded the gunners to send the single cannon fire signal which indicating that it was time for the trackers to return to the ship. They would go over the new plan in accordance with what Flame and Bleud had agreed upon and send the parties back out to draw the refugees through the Florida wilderness toward St. Augustine.

The shot was fired and the whole crew reconvened on the two ships. By that time it was nearly twilight as the faintest glow marked the eastern horizon. Flame and Bleud drilled the search parties for evidence of the fugitives but no one had found anything. One leader thought they had been looking too far south, another thought too far north. The third claimed they were likely in the right area but it was far too dark to search properly. Even with lamps something like a footprint could easily be missed at night in a littered forest.

In light of these unfavorable circumstances, there was an unexpected switch between the two captains. Flame was about to go on a furious rampage just as Bleud entered a calmer, more analytical state of mind. The head captain put up a hand to stop Flame from doing anything stupid. “They’re right, Flame. It’s almost dawn. We’ll wait to send them out again. Then after dark later on, we attack St. Augustine with both ships. There’s a good chance the French have some tracking hounds for hunting game in the port. If we can get our hands on a few of those dogs, we’ll have the advantage.”

Flame suddenly calmed as he processed Bleud’s new plan. “If we’re going to take St. Augustine more or less immediately, shouldn’t we keep all men on the ships? We’ll need as many combatants as possible to overwhelm an armed settlement,” he pointed out.

“Aye! Good thinking, mate. All men stay except one. We’ll send our best tracker north after the fugitives. Adahy!” Bleud yelled into the crowd.

“He’s in the medical bay, captain,” Legless told them. “Rolfe cut off one of his hands earlier so say the other men. Must’ve lost a lot of—” Before Legless could finish his words, the aforementioned man stepped forward. His wrist-stub was bound tightly with bloodied linen though his tattoo-laden facial demeanor gave no hint of pain.

Bleud glanced at Adahy and grinned back at the slack-jawed Flame. “The men of his tribe were warriors all,” Bleud explained. “They knew how to stop rapid blood loss with great haste. Isn’t that right?” he said, looking to the now one-handed pirate for confirmation.

Adahy solemnly nodded. “I wish to hunt the paleface that did this to me, captain,” he replied, displaying his mutilated extremity to the wowed crew. “I will make him suffer great pain and then I will deliver him to you alive as ordered.”

“Sure you can pull that off without your sword hand, chief?” a sarcastic voice from the crowd remarked. A series of snickers erupted from the crew though Adahy gave no hint of reaction—neither positive nor negative.

Bleud stepped forward, a look of reverence on his face that served to silence the crew. He clapped Adahy on the bicep of his uninjured arm. “Very well, soldier.” He turned to the others and commanded, “PREPARE THE COCKBOAT!”

The order spurred the insolent crew into action and Adahy left the ship with guns, ammunition, and a supply bag ten minutes later. His only accomplice was a rower as he generally preferred to go on missions alone. Once the plan was set into motion, Bleud and Flame turned their ships toward the bay of St. Augustine. They would wait in the waters outside the bay until nightfall returned and then they would attack.

…

Pocahontas yawned deeply. They had been traveling downriver all night until the tributary had opened up into a vast freshwater lake. While it was just past dawn, the sun was not yet hot enough to dry them off. Pocahontas was beginning to feel a chill as her body heat became erratic from lack of sleep. Rolfe was not in much better condition. In her peripheral vision, Pocahontas thought she saw his teeth chatter momentarily.

While they had both eaten a very large dinner the night before, enough hours had passed that their stomachs were beginning to growl again. At first they were too chilled to sit down and eat but the air warmed as the sun crested the forest canopy. “Let’s have some cheese and dried meat,” Rolfe proposed, sliding the pack off his shoulder.

“That sounds great!” Pocahontas replied without hesitation. She lowered herself to the sand and sat in a cross-legged position.

The raccoon perked up at the suggestion as well but Rolfe eyed him in warning. “Don’t think you can steal all the provisions, Meeko. I’m giving you a small ration and if you want more, you’ll have to forage like a proper animal,” he ordained in an authoritative tone, shaking a finger at the mischievous individual. “And don’t think you can steal from Percy either. I’ll hand-feed him myself if I’ve got to.”

Meeko crossed his arms and pouted at the Englishman whereas Percy jumped up and down for joy. They all sat down on the dry sand and Rolfe began to distribute the food. He gave Pocahontas an apple, a few strips of jerky, and a piece of cheese. She put the meat and cheese together and bit into them, savoring the flavor.

“It’s too bad we don’t have the bread. It would have gone deliciously with this,” Rolfe remarked, pulling out an apple and a piece of cheese for Meeko. The raccoon greedily snatched up the offered items and began to scarf them down.

Flit showed more interest in a patch of exotic flowers than the food they had brought so Rolfe dismissed him and turned his attention to Percy. He pulled out a piece of jerky and eyed Meeko carefully as the pug dog ate from his hand.

“Aren’t you going to eat, John?” Pocahontas inquired.

“In a moment, love,” Rolfe replied, narrowing his eyes at the raccoon.

It took Meeko less than a minute to finish his entire meal and he quickly turned his attention to Percy’s provisions just as the Englishman had predicted. “Don’t even think about it,” Rolfe warned as he offered Percy another strip of jerky, narrowing his eyes at Meeko. He held the supply pack in a protected position between his knees and kept his gaze locked on the would-be thief. “Shoo! Go find some berries, why don’t you?”

Pocahontas rolled her eyes at Meeko’s petulant expression. “Go on, Meeko. Do what he says,” she told him. “You’ll find lots of stuff to eat.” The animal frowned and stalked off to go look for fruits, snails, and other small morsels.

When Percy finished, he licked John Rolfe’s hand affectionately and curled up next to the Englishman’s thigh. Rolfe reached into the pack with his clean hand and began to eat his own share as Pocahontas finished her meal. He handed her a skin of water and she drank heavily from it before handing it back to him. “Had enough, Pocahontas?” he inquired, receiving a nod from her. She yawned and rubbed her eyes.

As the Florida sun warmed them up, they both began to feel sleepy. John Rolfe finished his snack quickly and yawned as well. “Alright, let’s rest up,” he announced, lying back in the sand. Their comfort levels increased dramatically as the sun evaporated the moisture from their clothes. Rolfe used the supply pack as a pillow to keep the sand out of his hair and stretched out with a contented sigh.

The fine dry sand was soft and molded nicely to the form of their bodies—a vast improvement over those dreadful hammocks they had been forced to slumber in for over three weeks. Pocahontas began to dig a shallow hole in the sand to sleep more comfortably on her side. Rolfe cracked an eye open when he felt Pocahontas shifting the sand beside to him. A moment later she laid down perpendicular to him and rested her head on his belly facing upward towards his head. As she closed her eyes, Rolfe ran a hand through her moist black hair and then down the length of her arm. When their hands met, they intertwined their fingers together and rapidly fell asleep.

…

The sun neared the western horizon when Rolfe finally awoke. He had slept much more deeply than he realized as he quickly discovered Meeko had successfully raided the supply pack right out from under his head. The Englishman shook the sand from his hair and found a trail of items leading into the forest as he frowned in irritation. He followed the path, gathering each thing as he went, and finally happened upon the pot-bellied raccoon passed out high up on a tree branch.

Fortunately all the inedible supplies were accounted for but it appeared that Meeko had eaten every last crumb of the food provisions. Rolfe even discovered an exploratory bite mark in the bar of soap and rolled his eyes. The empty pack itself was hanging on a narrow tree limb high over the Englishman’s head and quite out of reach. “ _Seriously_ , Meeko?” he griped as the animal stretched and glanced sleepily down at him.

Back on the shaded beach, the others had woken up as well. They followed John Rolfe’s bootprints into the forest and found him brandishing a fist at the lazy animal high out of reach on a live oak limb. Pocahontas snickered as she heard Rolfe’s noisy rebukes. “I quite could’ve enjoyed a snack after our rest but now we’ll all have to go without until we reach St. Augustine. I hope you’re proud of yourself, you hairy thief!” he yapped, pointing an accusing finger at the raccoon in the tree. Rolfe heard Pocahontas laugh and glanced over his shoulder. “I hope you’re not hungry, love, because we’re fresh out of provisions,” he told her, placing his hands petulantly on his hips as he pouted at Meeko.

“He snatched your satchel while you were sleeping, did he?” she teased. Flit zipped up to Meeko’s head and started squeaking angrily at the raccoon whereas Percy ran up to the foot of the tree barking and growling. The striped bandit just yawned.

“Don’t bother, Percy. He won’t learn. Come on then. The sooner we get to St. Augustine, the sooner we’ll have our next meal,” Rolfe proclaimed. He jumped up as high as he could to get the empty sack out of the tree though it was much too high. Pocahontas had to climb up on his shoulders to get to it. She handed it to him and hopped down to the ground, watching as he put everything back inside and slung the bag over his shoulder.

Pocahontas, Rolfe, Meeko, Percy, and Flit returned to the lake and continued southward though they could not help being distracted by the beautiful array of exotic birds they spotted along the way. There were tall pink birds with long legs and spoon-shaped bills, hook-billed water birds with webbed feet, crested blue wading birds, red-colored hawks, multi-colored songbirds, and everything in between. The world was a marvelous prism of color and song as the golden sun encroached on the western sky, lighting up the horizon with a complex array of blues, purples, and magentas.

They were fortunate to find a few bushes of edible berries along the route, eating as many as they could reach when they had the chance. Though the pint-sized fruits were not enough to be filling, it did help them keep their energy up as they travelled. Nobody really seemed to notice any intense hunger pangs until well after dark.

The night came alive with the sounds of crickets, bullfrogs, and larger unseen creatures slinking through the forest brush. With the sky clear, the moon and stars were enough to light their way as the lake beach gave way to a freshwater marsh. They kept to the outer rim of the marsh by the forest to avoid sinking into the mud. Though they were not fatigued yet, Pocahontas did find herself slowing down for want of sustenance. At last she needed a rest so she tugged on Rolfe’s sleeve and requested a stop.

“Are you alright, love?” Rolfe inquired, sitting down next to her on a fallen log. Meeko began feasting on a collection of snails stuck to the underside of a rock whereas Percy looked just as hungry and miserable as his human companions. Flit was fortunate to be able to feed off of nectar and there were many night blooms along the way. It seemed the hummingbird would have little trouble sustaining himself unlike the others.

“I’m starting to regret not getting madder at Meeko earlier,” Pocahontas said in a grumpy tone, shooting the raccoon a scolding glance. He purred at her innocently and ran straight up a tree to pick at the bark for bugs. “How much further until we find the settlement?” she inquired, peering up at Rolfe with hopeful eyes.

John Rolfe promptly reached into the bag. He pulled out the map and unfolded it. “The freshwater lake should be getting brackish soon. I figure we should be able to tell when the scent in the air changes. It’s supposed to open up into the bay that St. Augustine is located in which itself transitions into the ocean on the eastern border. Once we reach the bay we should be able to spot the colony on the far side. Then we just have to walk around the rim and we’ll arrive at the gates,” he concluded.

“Really?”

Rolfe nodded but then paused and looked more closely at the map. “We’re probably getting close to the bay and walking around to the other side should not take more than a day if we keep pressing. However we need to watch for ambushes. Having a tiny scout like Flit is a huge advantage so I’m not too terribly worried. We’ll have him survey ahead of us to make sure we’re not about to walk into anything we’d rather not,” he proposed in a reassuring voice, turning to address Flit. “Your job is an important one, little fellow. Think you can handle it?” queried the Englishman.

The hummingbird nodded and John Rolfe rose to his feet. When Pocahontas sighed and asked if they could rest just a little longer, Rolfe’s response was to heft her up into his arms and continue right along their way. Surprised at first, she did not seem to mind as she draped her arms around his shoulders.

As Rolfe had predicted, a salty sea scent arose about an hour or two later. He figured they were getting close. Pocahontas had taken up walking again, encouraged by the appearance of the brackish waters. However a second rather unexpected aroma mixed with the previous as they made their way through a sparse pine trail in the woods.

Rolfe stopped and sniffed the air. “Does… that smell like smoke to you, Pocahontas?” he inquired, raising a brow. The loud sound of cannon fire unexpectedly split the air, causing them both to jolt in surprise. Pocahontas and Rolfe looked at each other with wide eyes and then broke into a sprint through the tall grasses.

They bolted down the trail with the animals in hot pursuit. Rolfe followed Pocahontas as best he could through another mangrove swamp, tripping on multiple occasions. They tore through the branches, not caring much if they received scratches or not. There was an orange light visible through the dense brush ahead. As they emerged on the beach of the open bay, all they could do was watch in horror as St. Augustine burned.


	5. The Devil's in the Details

****The wind carried the cries of men, women, and children over the bay. Pocahontas fell to her knees as she watched helplessly. Rolfe placed a hand to his chest, trying to process what he was seeing. Meeko, Percy, and Flit just stared with their mouths wide open.

Another cannon was fired, setting off an explosion. It was hard to tell due to distance but it appeared to be a French ship in the harbor that was hit. All the vessels bearing the French flag were in flames. The main mast on one fell heavily on the deck of an adjacent ship as the _Blood Draw_ bombarded another burning ship with more cannon fire.

It appeared to Rolfe that the town had been attacked first. The pirates were rampaging through the colony on foot killing, maiming, and pillaging. They had to be searching for him and Pocahontas. Rolfe bit his bottom lip in woe. How had he not foreseen this?

Then again John Rolfe had been led to believe that St. Augustine was too fortified to be attacked. Why would Captains Bleud and Flame besiege such a heavily-armed settlement that bore no great quantities of treasure? And how had they managed to succeed with only a couple hundred men and just two ships?

 _“This is all my fault,”_ Pocahontas murmured below her breath. Rolfe turned his abrupt attention to her to find she had tears streaming down her face. She knitted her brows together in anguish and shook her head violently, burying her face in her hands.

“Pocahontas… what are you…?” he began, tapering off when she looked at him sadly.

“There are children there. I can hear them crying, John,” Pocahontas expressed, utterly devastated. “If I hadn’t gotten my shirt caught on that stupid hook, we could have stuck to your original plan! We could have warned them about the pirates. All those innocent lives… they’re dying because of me. Why didn’t I just go to bed? I should have gone to bed earlier and this never would have happened.”

Rolfe had not in his wildest dreams suspected Pocahontas would blame herself for such a tragedy. He lowered himself to his knees at her side. “Pocahontas, that was an accident. There’s no one to blame for this but the murderers and fiends responsible,” he countered. “This is what they do. If they hadn’t done it here, they would’ve done it somewhere else. They’re pirates. They have no honor or regard for life.”

Flit buzzed over and landed on Pocahontas’s shoulder whereas Meeko just frowned. John Rolfe noticed when Percy raised an ear. The pug dog stared at the fiery scene and began to growl. The Englishman looked up as well when his own ears detected a different noise hidden beneath the distant screams—barking dogs. He promptly rose to his feet and took Pocahontas by the hand, encouraging her to rise. “Come, love! We must leave. Their lives are in God’s hands now. There’s nothing we can do.”

Pocahontas rose unsteadily to her feet and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She pulled her other arm out of his grip, causing him to turn back to her. “Go where, John? How will we get home now? They’ve burned all the ships,” she countered.

Rolfe placed his hands sternly on his hips and shot her a look of perseverance. “If they think that’s going to stop us, they’ve got another thing coming. Now come along. We’re heading north.” He turned tail and began to trudge back the way they had come.

Pocahontas blinked and quickly caught up with him. “Is there another settlement?” she inquired, looking hopeful. He shook his head but kept going. Pocahontas frowned at this. “Then why are we going north? What’s the point?”

“This is one large land mass, Pocahontas. If we head north along the coast, we’ll eventually reach Virginia and therefore your tribe,” Rolfe plainly stated.

“What? Really?!” Pocahontas replied in surprise, receiving a nod. She had not been the one to look at the map and hence had not realized they could get to Virginia on foot from their current location. “But… what about food? We’re all out!”

“We’ll find it, love. We’ll do whatever it takes,” Rolfe retorted as they pushed through the brush back into the forest. He was a bit more surefooted now. Though he did stumble now and again, his facial expression never wavered as he kept plodding along.

“But how long will it take? Winter is coming! It will be harder to find food, plus we do not have warm clothes with us!” Pocahontas pointed out.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Rolfe countered. When she gave him a perplexed look, he added, “It means we need to stay in the here and now and we’ll solve future problems as they crop up. Our first priority is to get as far away from here as fast as possible because they are going to hunt for us. I heard the dogs over the bay.”

Pocahontas gasped and stopped in her tracks for a brief moment. When Rolfe failed to slow down, she spurred herself back into a jog and trailed after him.

…

Adahy shifted his feet in the sand by the riverbank. The tracks appeared relatively fresh but he could not be certain how far the escapees had travelled since they had been here. He knew they would find their destination an inferno of destruction and chaos if all had gone according to the pirates’ plans.

He could recognize two distinct boot tracks but they also appeared to be accompanied by a small dog and a raccoon. Adahy raised a brow in curiosity. The dog could be a problem if it could detect his scent and warn its human companions. However the wind was currently flowing in the easterly direction, meaning that would not be a problem for now.

With other hound-assisted hunting parties coming from St. Augustine, surely the fugitives would head back north to evade them. Adahy had to cut them off and he was betting given their previous pattern that they would follow the same body of water when returning in the opposite direction. All he really had to do was lie in wait although he was too impatient for that. He wanted the Englishman now.

Adahy loaded his rifle and began to head downriver. The firearms were not for the fugitives. They were only for personal defense against hostile tribes and wild animals. He carried a very different kind of weapon for use against the Englishman and his companions—well, mostly the Englishman. ‘Mr. Rolfe’ was the real threat after all. As far as Adahy was concerned, the woman and animals were harmless.

The dragonfly blackstone dagger laid in wait deep in his satchel. He could feel its impatient spirit voice whispering to him, spurring him to quicken his pace. The starving being fed on pain—of which it had been deprived for weeks.

 _Make his anguish so great that he will renounce his deity to stop the pain. Deliver me his pure soul and my full power will be unleashed. Do this deed for me and you will be rewarded with a wish of your choosing,_ the sinister voice whispered in the back of his consciousness. Adahy trembled in a mixed feeling of awe and trepidation. The dagger did not speak to him often but he became instantly entranced whenever it did.

While Adahy knew nothing of Rolfe’s strength of will, he was well versed in the blackstone torture methods of his extinct people—the Copichicans. Their ancient gods designed the three-bladed weapon as a manifold torture device at the dawn of man. As a direct descendent of the first Copichican man created, he had inherited the first dragonfly blackstone dagger—the only one ever imbued with a powerful spirit.

The weapon’s strength had seen him through many hardships and he intended to repay it in full. He felt further motivated by the fact that he could use the wish to restore his lost hand. The blood in his veins burned hot in anticipation of the coming ambush and his feet spurred to life. He raced down the riverbank at a superhuman pace. The impatient dagger lent him strength and stamina. It wanted blood and it wanted it now.

…

Rolfe collapsed to his knees after several hours of jogging alongside Pocahontas. The noise from the dogs was further away now. The hunting parties appeared to be moving slower than they were so the Englishman saw no harm in taking a rest. With the easterly winds, Pocahontas had pointed out that the dogs could not have picked up their scent yet. They still had time to escape to the far northern territories but they would need food.

Pocahontas collapsed next to John Rolfe though she looked slightly less winded. Rolfe still had lingering pain from his wound even though the bleeding had stopped. The hard scab over his ribcage did not take kindly to the turbulence involved in jogging for so long despite how soft the sand of the lake beach was under their feet.

Pocahontas noticed twilight emerging in the eastern sky over the canopy. “I can’t run another minute without food,” she confessed.

Still heaving, Rolfe nodded in agreement. “So, um…” he hesitantly began, readjusting his position so he was sitting on his rear in the sandy soil. “What do you know about living off the land, Pocahontas? I don’t really know where to begin other than to look for more edible fruits,” he admitted. “Maybe Meeko can help us.”

Pocahontas shook her head. “We need meat.”

Rolfe frowned when her statement made him feel instantly inadequate. He had never hunted before in his life and was worried about what Pocahontas would expect of him.

When Pocahontas saw his expression, she knew she would have to take on a traditionally male role. He did not have the knowledge or skill yet to hunt for their sustenance. “Stay here,” she instructed, rising shakily to her feet. Rolfe blinked in surprise as his ladylove strutted off into the pine flatwoods that ran along the lake. She paused a moment and turned back to him. “You have flint and steel?” she suddenly inquired.

Rolfe nodded. “Yes, in the pack.”

“Build a fire,” she said and then she was gone.

…

“Take a tally of all the survivors in our crew. We might not be able to sail both ships if we haven’t enough men left,” Flame told Legless as they boarded their ship. The Irishman was in a foul mood. He had not been expecting such heavy losses. The French colonists had put up a ferocious fight though ultimately they had been defeated.

“Some of the men are still chasing down escapees, sir. I won’t be able to get a full count until they return,” Legless replied as he began counting the heads that were still present. The remaining men shuffled about—some carrying supplies, others carrying hysterical French women down to the brig.

They had started with well over two hundred men and now Legless counted just over fifty. Three hunting parties were sent north with dogs which accounted for nine men total. The rest were either dead or were pursuing French escapees into the Florida wilderness. Legless had no idea how many had gone after the survivors but there certainly were a lot of dead bodies all around the settlement, and floating in the bay.

Flame punched a wall with his bare fist and screamed. “I was expecting thirty, maybe forty percent loss. But this is ridiculous! The men were careless,” he seethed. “Rolfe is going to pay dearly for this,” he growled between clenched teeth.

“Aye, sir. But we’ve got to find him first. Ah, here comes Bleud,” Legless announced as the _Blood Draw_ approached from the other side of the decimated port.

Flame turned and saw the ship, cursing to himself under his breath. Unlike the Irishman, Bleud appeared to be having a jolly good time after the great pillaging spree. Copious quantities of French rum had turned the _Draw_ into a shipload of drunken singing idiots after they had raided a galleon stocked with alcoholic beverages of all kinds.

“Ahoy, mate!” Bleud called over to them as the ships fell side by side. “Where be all the wenches? Aren’t ye going to share with your pirating brethren?”

Facing away from them, Flame clenched his fists as Legless called back in a tone laden with victory. “Aye! The men are loading ‘em into the brig for you, cap’n. You get half just as we agreed. Now where’s our share of the rum?”

“Right o’er here on the deck. Get the ramp and we’ll exchange,” Bleud replied. The few men on the deck of Bleud’s ship were boisterously drinking and dancing around. One of them got so carried away that he fell overboard.

Flame rolled his eyes. This was why the men had elected Bleud their leader in the first place though it had been well over two decades ago. Bleud gave them what they wanted and rarely made use of the bosun’s cat. But his sense of naval discipline had been slipping more and more as of late and Flame simply could not allow it to slip any further. Revenge had to remain the top priority. Flame’s black soul cried out for it.

Bleud was the only man on the high seas who could best Flame with the sword so the Irishman knew he would have to think up an alternative method of ousting him from power. Flame watched the men load French bakery items onto the ship and a thought came to mind. He knew Bleud to be half-French and he also knew his favorite food was the croissant. A wicked grin lit up Flame’s gnarled face as an idea popped into his head.

…

Rolfe walked along the edge of the forest picking up dried palm fronds, Spanish moss, and any other light material that looked like it would make good kindling. The emerging morning light helped him find what he was looking for more quickly. He had already collected a large pile of dry branches on the beach but had discovered that they did not burn well enough. They refused to pick up the spark from the flint and steel so he figured he would need something lighter to start with.

Once John Rolfe’s arms were loaded with as much bone-dry kindling material as he could carry, he walked back to the hearth he had selected near the calm water and dumped it all onto the sand. The hearth was a circle lined with flat stones on all sides. He kicked the small logs and branches out of the circle and piled up some of the kindling. Kneeling before it, he grabbed the flint and steel out of his pocket and began to strike them together over the Spanish moss and palm fronds.

“Come on!” Rolfe urged in an aggravated voice. His hands were getting tired from the effort but the spark refused to catch. He desperately wanted to get the fire started before Pocahontas got back lest he prove himself to be completely useless. Percy whimpered lightly as he watched the Englishman struggle to perform a basic survival task.

Meeko and Flit had gone to assist Pocahontas in whatever she was doing. John Rolfe found their absence to be most fortunate as he preferred to have the smallest possible audience to witness his repeated failures. The Englishman sighed and sat back in the sand to give his arms a rest. After a few minutes, he started up again. He was about to give up altogether and chuck the flint into the lake when he suddenly saw a wisp of smoke. He fell to his knees and blew gently on the burning spot. Percy yipped in excitement and ran over, helping Rolfe blow on the growing flame. When the fire burst to life, the diplomat stood up and started jumping up and down. “Yes, I knew I wasn’t totally incompetent!” he cried until something heavy fell on his foot.

Then he began hopping around for a different reason. “Oooh! Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow! What on earth?” Rolfe raged, glancing down at what appeared to be a giant nut. He plopped down next to it, still holding his aching foot. When the pain eased up, he turned his attention to the item and looked up at the coconut tree overhead. The dangling fruits were rather precariously positioned twenty or so feet above his fragile skull so he scooted to a different position around the fire and rolled the coconut along with him.

Percy came over and sniffed the item as Rolfe held it up, examining it. “It’s got a tough shell. If there’s anything edible inside, it’s not going to be easy to get to.” He turned it to the opposite end and poked at the part where the stem had detached. “Then again…”

John Rolfe reached into his satchel and brought out the razor and strop. He sharpened the blade and gently applied pressure along the grain of the coconut, making a small slit from the stem. He rotated it slightly and made another small slit and then used the tip of the blade to separate the section from the rest of the shell. Next he put the blade down and used his fingers to tear the section straight down to the bottom tip of the coconut. The inside of the shell was a very fibrous material. He began tearing it apart piece-by-piece, tossing long fiber strands aside as he dug deeper into the fruit. Eventually he reached another hard shell and blinked in surprise as he tapped it.

The Brit dug his fingers under the fiber around the inner shell and tore the other half of the outer shell off, leaving him with a big nut about the size of a small cannon ball. He shook the item and heard something slosh around inside. Percy raised an ear in curiosity. “I think it’s hollow with some kind of liquid inside. The question is how to get to it.” He soon discovered that there were three small indentations on one end. Poking at them with his fingers, he discovered that they seemed soft compared to the rest of the nut. He looked for a sharp spiral seashell and began jabbing at them. They gave pretty easily and he poked three holes in the top of the nut with the shell.

John Rolfe brought the nut to his face and sniffed, then poured some of the semi-clear fluid into the palm of his hand and tasted it. “Oh my, that’s delicious! It’s even better than rose wine. Want to try some, Percy?” Rolfe inquired. The canine yipped and stuck out his tongue so Rolfe poured some more of the sweet milky liquid into the palm of his hand again and offered it down to the animal. Percy lapped at it enthusiastically. “Like it?” Rolfe asked, drawing back when Percy had finished. The pug nodded and Rolfe finished the rest of the beverage. “I want to see what the inside looks like,” Rolfe expressed, rising to his feet. He used a thick branch he had found as a club to smash the nut repeatedly against a hardwood tree, effectively breaking it open on the thirteenth strike.

The inside was a thick white material that appeared to be edible. John Rolfe licked it and then shaved a small strip off with his incisors, chewing it thoughtfully. Percy panted up at him. “It’s a bit hard to separate from the shell but it is rather tasty,” Rolfe admitted. He broke some pieces off with his fingers and shaved the inedible brown lining off with his razor before offering them to Percy. The canine was very hungry as he gobbled the pieces up and waited for Rolfe to prepare more. Together they ate all of the coconut meat before the Englishman turned his attention back to the tree from whence the flavorful fruit had come. “I’ve got to get some more before Pocahontas gets back. I think she’ll like it.”

Rolfe slammed his shoulder against the trunk of the odd limbless tree to shake more of the fruits loose. One of them fell but the others refused to let go. He frowned up at the tasty treats and then shrugged. “Oh, well. I’ll just get Meeko to do it when he gets back. He’s a good climber,” he uttered, picking up the one coconut that he had successfully knocked out of the tree. He got to work de-shelling it as he had done with the first.

Pocahontas was poking around the different trees with her machete about a quarter mile into the forest, trying to find wood with just the right physical properties to be fashioned into a bow. While Flit was trying to help her with the task, Meeko was otherwise preoccupied. The raccoon had climbed high up in a tree to stalk tasty anole lizards—of which he had found quite a few. The Powhatan woman sighed in frustration. Suddenly she heard something shuffling in the nearby brush.

She crept over quietly and peered through the leaves to find a land tortoise digging a hole in the sandy red soil. The creature was about Meeko’s size. Pocahontas’s mouth watered as she snuck up behind it. She sprung forward and grabbed it around the shell, dragging it out of the hole. The animal immediately retreated into its thick casing but Pocahontas knew the underside of the shell would be no match for her machete. She chanted a prayer of thanks to the spirit of the animal before she began to butcher the meat.

By the time Pocahontas, Meeko, and Flit returned to the lakeshore, the morning sun was peeking through the canopy. Though she was pleased to see Rolfe had gotten a fire going, she was most surprised to find that he had striven beyond that basic duty. The sand was littered with strips of fibrous husk, some of which he tossed into the fire as fuel. When he caught sight of her, he immediately offered her what turned out to be a deliciously sweet milk-like beverage. “There’s food inside the shell as well. Percy and I ate the other one. You’ve got to try it,” he told her, taking the nut after she had drained it dry.

As John Rolfe cracked it open with a club on the hardwood tree, Pocahontas realized he had not even noticed the tortoise meat she was carrying. She had butchered and gutted the animal in the forest, leaving the inedible entrails behind. The shell, she used as a bowl to carry the prepared raw meat. As Rolfe was distractedly preparing the coconut meat by the tree, Pocahontas snuck over to the fire and placed the whole turtle shell on top of the flames. She added wood around the sides and poked at it to help the tortoise meat cook.

As the meat began to crackle, a delicious scent permeated the air. Pocahontas watched slyly as John Rolfe’s olfactory senses gradually awoke to the presence of roasting flesh. He turned around to see the tortoise shell Pocahontas had set on the fire. Inside of the hard green shell was cooking meat. “You caught something? Seriously?” he exclaimed, running over with the pieces of coconut in hands. “It smells wonderful!”

Pocahontas nodded, flipping over the sizzling-hot strips of meat with a two-pronged stick. “Thank goodness for big, slow animals,” she remarked.

Rolfe chuckled and scooted over to her side, offering her a piece of coconut. “Dinner and dessert. Is there anything we’re missing? Try this. I for one think it’s delightful.”

Pocahontas took a piece of moist coconut and ate it. “It is good. I wish there was more.”

Meeko snuck up behind Pocahontas to snag some of the fresh coconut meat out of her open palm. Rolfe did not fail to notice. He snatched Meeko up by the scruff of his neck and shook a finger at him. “Oh no, you don’t! Hairy little thief, you’ve got to earn your keep this time,” John Rolfe ordained, rising to his feet. Meeko purred innocently as Rolfe carried the raccoon over to the coconut tree and pushed him up the trunk. Meeko climbed up out of reach and looked back down, sending a curious glance toward Rolfe.

“Knock all the big, brown nuts out of the tree and you can eat with the rest of us. Don’t bother with the little green ones. I don’t think those are ripe just yet,” Rolfe explained, pointing up to the top of the tree. Meeko peered up and saw seven ripe coconuts hanging overhead. He purred and licked his lips, racing up the palm tree as fast as he could. “Good boy,” Rolfe said as the raccoon enthusiastically went to work.

Some of the nuts were easy for Meeko to knock out of the tree but with others he had to chew on the stems to loosen them. Thanks to the masked bandit’s climbing prowess, the group now had enough coconut meat to go around. As Pocahontas roasted the tortoise meat on the fire, Rolfe used his strength to husk all of the nuts. Even Flit wanted a taste of the sweet milk inside one of the coconuts. Pocahontas figured it had to taste much like nectar to the little bird. When the food preparation was completed, Pocahontas and Rolfe exchanged some from their respective products and began eating.

Percy feasted on the tasty tortoise flesh whereas Meeko had taken much more to the coconut meat. Pocahontas and Rolfe ate equal amounts of both. Before they had a chance to finish all the food Rolfe spoke up. Though the barking of the French hounds had dissipated for a while as the distant animals rested, they had started up again and were surely getting closer. “I think we need to avoid overstuffing ourselves at the moment. It will only slow us down. We can carry this food with us and eat when we get hungry again,” Rolfe decreed, packing up what remained of his meal.

He wrapped the tortoise and coconut meat in palm fronds and then wrapped those leafy bundles in spare linen, stuffing them into his satchel. Pocahontas yawned in John Rolfe’s peripheral vision. “I’m tired too,” the Englishman admitted, “but I think we need to get further away from our pursuers before we rest again. They still haven’t picked up our scent but they seem to know intuitively that we’re heading north. If we get far enough, perhaps they will give up looking for us,” he speculated.

Pocahontas nodded, stretching her back. “Hold on just a minute though. I’ll be right back,” she said, stretching as she rose to her feet. Placing her hands on her lower belly, she felt as if her bladder was about to burst.

“Alright, love. Hurry back and I’ll snuff out the fire while you’re gone,” John Rolfe replied. He got to work as Pocahontas retreated into the forest to take care of business. The three animals followed to do the same. Worried that the wind might change, Rolfe went to bury the fire hearth in sand to mask the smoky scent.

…

He could sense that they were close. The spirit voice seemed to grow stronger and Adahy slowed his pace as he approached the end of the river. A vast lake lay ahead though he could not see well along the shore with all the cattails and other high marsh grasses. Looking down at the footprints, it appeared that Rolfe and the woman had crossed the river at this point. The western side seemed a bit flatter and less populated with brush. Hence it was easier to navigate through.

The wind changed angles and began to blow in a more northerly direction. The scent of a dying campfire came upon Adahy’s senses. His heart pounded as he glanced silently through the brush. The dagger lent him more strength in preparation for the hunt.

Adahy spotted the Englishman forty paces away near the edge of the water. John Rolfe was busy dousing the campfire with sand. The Copichican was surprised to see that he had no visible weapons anywhere on his person. Adahy had been warned that Rolfe had escaped with a sword—the same one that had severed his hand. But there were no signs of any such blade anywhere around the campfire.

Adahy grinned in delight. This was going to be far easier than he had expected. He darted through the brush and headed straight for Rolfe. The Englishman yelped in surprise when he heard rapid footsteps and spun around just in time to be tackled to the ground by an overwhelming force. Adahy knocked the breath out of Rolfe’s lungs but fortunately for the diplomat, the soft sand prevented any further injury from the fall.

However John Rolfe felt his luck was about to run out as the man on top of him used incredible strength to pin his neck to the ground with a handless forearm. He recognized the man’s features instantly. Though he had never learned his attacker’s name, Rolfe knew the assailant was a member of Flame’s crew. Rolfe had previously wondered if the man originated from the same lands at Pocahontas, given his copper-toned skin, but the Brit had no way to know for sure. He had been too timid to ask. This was the very brigand that he had maimed before escaping the ship into the dark Floridian waters.

Had his windpipe not been squashed, John Rolfe would have gasped in shock. Instead he began to kick and struggle, using his free hands to punch, slap, and scratch at the assailant’s face. Though the pirate was no bigger than Rolfe, he seemed to possess supernatural strength. In the Englishman’s asphyxiating state however, he could barely process what was happening. His lungs demanded air as he struggled to get away.

Adahy’s eyes gleamed in a mix of vengeful rage and gloating satisfaction. Given Rolfe’s predicament, Adahy’s one remaining hand was free to reach for the dragonfly blackstone dagger in his boot. When his skin came in contact with it, his strength doubled and the Englishman’s struggles began to weaken.

Adahy laughed wickedly before releasing the pressure from John Rolfe’s neck. The aggressor drew back but positioned the ebony dagger by the Englishman’s jugular to keep him down on the sand. Rolfe coughed and wheezed madly as his windpipe opened back up, feeling the sharp blade pressed lightly against his exposed gullet. It burned as the dagger came alive, glowing red in the morning sunlight.

…

Pocahontas rapidly repositioned her belt and glanced around the forest, trembling in trepidation. Though she had never met an evil spirit face-to-face before, she recognized the signs of a dark presence in the instant a smothering pall of dread and depression washed over the forest. The birds stopped singing and all the wild animals began to flee.

Meeko and Flit huddled together in fright. Meanwhile Percy raised an ear, trying to gauge what the hubbub was all about, as he was less attuned to the earth than his wild brethren. All four of them glanced back in the direction of the lake. The dark aura was emanating from there through the dense forest, pulsating like a heart of evil. Pocahontas drew in a sharp breath when it dawned on her that Rolfe was still by the lake. “John!”

Pocahontas took off, racing through the dense hammock with a level of agility even she did not realize she possessed. Though fearful, her loyal companions trailed after her. Meeko, Percy, and Flit could not allow her to face the threat alone.

…

Rolfe gasped, his heart pounding in his chest as he realized the true precariousness of his situation. “You will feel great pain this day,” the pirate hissed at him. The burning heat from the blade increased and John Rolfe had to grit his teeth to avoid crying out. The last thing he wanted was to attract Pocahontas’s attention with a mad man on the beach. He dreaded what the madman would do to her if he found her, even more so than to himself.

“Release me at once, you dog! I’ve no quarrel with you. My only desire is to get home,” Rolfe hissed through a stiff jaw as the pain increased. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Adahy snorted. “I should cut out your tongue for the lies you speak. Every Survivor knows your kind thirsts for the very nectar the gods feed upon. You are of an insatiable breed, a plague upon the earth!” He drew back and buried the tip of his glowing blade beneath Rolfe’s belt. It sliced clean through the tough leather with little effort. “When I am done, you will not be able to spawn any more of your kind!”

Rolfe widened his eyes in horror as he realized the man’s true intent. Thinking fast, he went straight for the pirate’s only visible weakness—the handless wrist-stub that had yet to heal. He grabbed a hold of the wound and squeezed, digging his fingernails into the bloodied binding to elicit as much pain as possible.

Adahy let loose a howl to rival a wolf’s. He tore himself out of John Rolfe’s grip and elbowed the Englishman across the face. The dragonfly blackstone dagger glowed brighter all the while. Before Adahy could do anything else however, a small dog burst through the forest brush and bit his leg hard. The copper-skinned man screamed and kicked the animal away, turning furiously back to his victim.

“Percy, no!” Rolfe cried. Adahy would not let any weaklings distract him. When he saw the screaming woman burst from the forest in his peripheral vision, he ignored her and raised his dagger again to mutilate the Englishman’s visage. Pocahontas arrived just as he was bringing it down but it was too late. Rolfe’s face splattered with crimson blood.

Adahy cackled in delight until he saw his own wrist and recognized that the red blood on the white man’s face was in fact his own. He screamed in horror when he observed that his one remaining hand was gone. His eyes darted around as the lightheadedness set in. Peering over his shoulder, he spotted his severed hand and the demon dagger lying some distance back in the sand. The dagger’s glow gradually faded and the spirit cried out in rage. _Fool! You let a woman best you in battle!_

When he turned back, he received a knee to the face which broke his nose as Pocahontas kicked him off of John Rolfe. She grabbed Rolfe by the hand and dragged him away from the outlaw. The Englishman yelped as his pants started to descend down his pelvis. He grabbed them and pulled them up as he rose to his feet, gasping. There was sand in his knickers but he figured he would have to deal with that problem later.

Pocahontas hooked her bloodied machete back onto her own belt and immediately turned Rolfe towards her to examine him. “Are you alright? Are you injured?” she blurted, wiping the blood off his face to see if he had any wounds of his own. Before Rolfe could even answer, Pocahontas grabbed his wrist and the tortoise shell and dragged him over to the water’s edge. She filled the shell bowl with water and offered it to him. “Quick, wash your face. Did he cut you with his weapon?” she interrogated.

“I, um…” The Englishman seemed completely discombobulated. Pocahontas lowered her brows and splashed some of the water on his face to snap him out of it. He blinked. “Pocahontas, what on earth was that thing? It was glowing!” he cried, nearly letting go of his pants. He yelped as they almost fell down and grabbed them again.

Pocahontas raised a brow. “Did he… try to take your pants off or something?” she asked. Rolfe’s face went crimson. Pocahontas sighed and put the bowl down. She trod over to the unconscious pirate and stole the belt from around his waist, handing it to Rolfe.

John Rolfe could not bare to meet Pocahontas’s gaze as he accepted the pilfered gift. _“Th… thanks…”_ he murmured as he removed his own ruined belt and replaced it.

“Wash your face and I’ll tell you what that thing was,” Pocahontas decreed, offering him the shell full of water again. She waited until he started splashing the water on his face to repeat her previous question. “Did he cut you with the blade?”

“I don’t know. He touched my neck with it. It burned like hellfire,” Rolfe replied, placing a hand on his throat as the water rinsed the blood down his face in dark red rivulets. “What was it? That can’t be natural!” he added, splashing more water on his face.

Pocahontas bit her lip, trying to think of how to explain it in his terms. Fortunately his people did have a concept of supernatural evil. When one of the hateful men in Jamestown called her a heathen on one occasion, he had also shouted at her that she would ‘burn in Hell’ for being one. She had come to discover what Hell was later when she asked a kind elderly white woman. Satan made her think of the evil wolf spirit from her own people’s mythology. There were many similarities between the two.

Suddenly Pocahontas gasped and dropped the shell full of water to the sand. “Meeko, no! Don’t touch it!” she cried. She bolted over to the raccoon as he curiously examined the now-impotent blackstone dagger and used her thick boot to kick the evil item far away into the lake where it immediately sank to the bottom. Meeko cried out in startlement and ran over to Percy, hiding behind the small canine. Flit started squeaking angrily at Meeko, chiding him for his dangerous sense of curiosity.

John Rolfe ran over and stared into the lake where the dagger had disappeared, then turned his wide-eyed gaze back to Pocahontas. “What was that, Pocahontas? What do you know that you’re not telling me?” he demanded.

Pocahontas looked at him, hesitating. When he drew his brows together impatiently, she sighed and relented. “Have you… ever met a demon before, John?” she slowly inquired. Rolfe raised a brow and then shook his head. “If you value your soul, pray you never do again. Kekata back in my village can explain better,” she finished, turning back and pacing down the beach to where she had dropped the tortoise shell.

John Rolfe gasped and stared back out at the lake in horror, making the sign of the cross over his chest. Pocahontas picked up the shell and walked back to him, examining his neck. “Where did it touch you?” she asked. He pointed to the spot over his jugular. Looking closely, she observed that the skin was intact.

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. It did not break the skin. You will be alright. Now let’s get out of here. I can hear the dogs getting closer,” she conluded just as a howl sounded in the distance. One of the hounds from St. Augustine had just picked up their scent and both of them gritted their teeth in apprehension.

John Rolfe ran over to gather their belongings and stuff everything in the supply pack. He stepped deftly over the body of the fallen pirate. It was unclear if the man was alive or dead and the Englishman was afraid to find out. A minute later, Pocahontas and Rolfe were jogging north again at a brisk pace.

After they ran through the brush at the mouth of the river, they discovered the brigand had dropped his own supply pack. Rolfe rummaged through it to find more food supplies. To his delight, there was also a loaded pistol and a rifle lying in the sand nearby. He took the pistol and left the rifle which would be too heavy for long-distance travel.

“Good. This food will last us a few days,” Pocahontas remarked. “We’ll save time if we don’t have to stop to hunt.” She glanced around to see if there was anything else the pirate had dropped. She slung the second supply pack over her own shoulder and glanced at Rolfe. “Here,” she said, placing the tortoise shell on his head like an oversized helmet. It effectively shaded his visage from the harsh Florida sun. “Your face was turning pink again,” she explained, turning north to continue their trek.

“Pocahontas! This looks silly!” Rolfe protested, imagining how ridiculous he must look with a tortoise shell on his head. He did not think such a thing would ever be considered fashionable by London standards or by any standards.

“You’ll look sillier with a red face, trust me,” Pocahontas casually countered, earning a pouting look from him. She ignored Rolfe and kept moving, forcing him to sprint to catch up with her. Meeko, Percy, and Flit followed suit and soon they were all traveling back up the river from whence they had come.


	6. Baptism by Fire

****Spike-Eyes was about to beat one of the hounds for chasing after a squirrel when one of his accomplices called to him from the beach by the lake. “I’ve found something!”

Spike-Eyes whistled to the third in their group and then went over to where Demented Jake was standing over and scrutinizing something in the sand. One of the dogs was busily sniffing at the ground beside him.

When Spike-Eyes came close enough, he identified the discovery as a faded boot print. “You think it’s one of theirs?” he inquired as Manslaughter Sol trotted over to their location, followed by the other two hounds.

“Françoise seems to think so,” Demented Jake replied, patting the female canine on her side. The most talented sniffer, Françoise had rapidly become the hunting party’s favorite and got the most treats and strokes for her efforts.

“Muzzle the dogs,” Spike-Eyes commanded. “If we’ve got tracks to follow, we don’t need the hounds unless the footprints disappear. The mutts will only bark and warn them of our approach. If we can hunt them silent-like, they will slow their pace. We’ll have a chance to catch up to ‘em quicker.”

Demented Jake rose to his feet and spat in the sand. “Will that really be necessary? I thought we were just herding them north so the Injun tracker could intercept them,” he plainly stated. “Plus they’ll run out of food soon if they had any to begin with. Where could they possibly go? There’s nothin’ but hostile Injun territory north of here.”

“Aye but we need a backup plan in case Adahy should fail. Flame and Bleud would expect no less of us,” Spike-Eyes argued as Manslaughter approached. Demented Jake sneered and spat on the beach again. Like most of the crew, he preferred plundering for riches over chasing two hapless souls who posed no threat to them through the wilderness. However Bleud had promised them the most buxom French wench when they returned so he dutifully held his tongue.

“Are we going to start following these tracks now or wait for the other two parties to catch up to us?” Manslaughter suddenly inquired as he discovered more prints further down the beach. There were definitely two distinct human individuals that had been here though the scent trail was almost cold by now. Only Françoise had been able to detect it as she had the best nose of the litter.

“Leave a sign so’s they’ll know which direction we went but we wait for no man. We best not let our quarry get any further ahead of us than they already are,” Spike-Eyes replied. Manslaughter nodded and used the tip of his boot to dig a big arrow in the sand pointing straight north. The pirating trio muzzled the dogs and began to follow the tracks. The footprints led them on for hours as their quarry had clearly been keeping to the lakeshore to avoid the dense forests and mangroves that were more difficult to navigate through.

It was not until the sun retreated behind the western forest canopy that they spotted something far down the beach. Spike-Eyes could not tell what it was from the distance but it almost appeared to be a human form asleep in the sand. “We’ve spotted ‘em! Charge, men! Don’t let ‘em get away!” he cried, whipping out his sword.

His accomplices did the same and bolted through the soft white sand. Due to a curve in the edge of the lake, they had to run behind a large patch of cattails and aquatic grasses to get to their destination. Demented Jake ran faster than the others due to his nimble size and burst through the brush first. He dropped his sword and gaped in surprise.

Spike-Eyes and Manslaughter emerged behind him, also stopping to stare in shock. Adahy was lying on his side in the sand. His clothes were caked in brown dried blood. As his body was facing away from them, they could not readily identify the injury responsible at first. Spike-Eyes was the first to jog over and kneel at the man’s side.

Suddenly Demented Jake gasped and pointed at something lying in the sand by the water’s edge. It appeared to be a severed human hand. “Rolfe has cut off his other hand!”

Spike-Eyes rose back up to his feet. There was a prolonged silence after the startling announcement as the three men stared at each other in bewilderment. Then all of a sudden the trio burst out laughing all in unison.

They guffawed and carried on until their sides were sore and Demented Jake was literally rolling around in the sand. “Like I always says,” Manslaughter chortled. “Never send an Injun to do a real man’s job! Aye, men?” The others continued chuckling, nodding in agreement. “You’d think he’d have known well enough to guard his other hand.”

“Well at least we knows for sure that Rolfe’s still got his sword on him. I’m looking forward to crossing blades with the old dog now. Haven’t had a challenge in months, matter of fact. The sailors on the supply ship were pitiful!” Spike-Eyes declared.

“Aye! Save some of ‘im for us though, mate,” Manslaughter replied, picking up the severed hand and waving it around in the air. He chuckled. “Shall we keep this as a souvenir?” he wickedly suggested.

Spike-Eyes was about to reply when they heard a groan. They glanced at what they believed was nothing more than a lifeless corpse. Adahy was pale as death but he moved a handless forearm ever so slightly as his brain came in and out of consciousness. He murmured in his native language and the pirates looked at each other in confusion.

“Well he’s not dead yet apparently but he’s close to it,” Manslaughter stated, walking over to the body. He used his foot to roll Adahy over onto his back as the man’s eyes fluttered. “Hey, Injun! You want us to put ye out of your misery? Technically you don’t deserve it for losing to a fop but I’m in a generous mood,” he offered, grinning down at Adahy with a gold-toothed smile.

 _“Get… the blade,”_ Adahy murmured in a barely audible voice. _“He calls to me from the water. Bring him to me, I will reward…”_ He passed out again before he could finish. Suddenly one of the French hounds whined loudly through its muzzle and dashed away from Spike-Eyes who in his distraction only had a loose grasp on the animal’s leash.

“Bloody mongrel!” Spike-Eyes howled, running after the fleeing dog as it plunged headfirst into the lake. The pirate stopped at the edge, not wanting to get wet, and pulled out his pistol. “I’ve had it with that damned mutt!”

“Don’t waste your bullets on the beast,” Manslaughter told him. “A better fate to let a disobedient hound starve to death than to kill it quickly with a pistol. Besides Françoise is the only one we really need.”

Spike-Eyes clenched his teeth but saw reason in his accomplice’s argument. He put away his gun as the animal swam further out into the lake and turned away from the water, approaching the others. “Come on, let’s not give the fugitives any more of a head start than they’ve already got,” he finally said, placing his sword back in its scabbard. He glanced north and observed the lake ended at the mouth of a river.

“What about the Injun?” Demented Jake inquired, nudging the limp man with the tip of his boot.

Spike-Eyes glanced back at him. “Leave him. He’s useless to us and he’ll only slow us down,” he replied, walking over to the edge of the forest. He broke a thick limb off of a tree, cut it down to size with his sword, and wrapped the end in linen. “Make yourselves torches, men. It’ll be getting dark soon,” he told them.

When they were all ready, they continued north along the tracks left by the escapees. Devil willing, they would gladly forgo sleep to catch up with the two runaways.

…

“The captain is dead!” cried the perturbed voice of Leonard Legless. He had just emerged from the captain’s quarters aboard the _Blood Draw_ and his announcement promptly got the attention of the entire crew. With all the French fugitives tracked down and butchered, the rest of the men had at last returned to the decimated port.

As it was just past dark, the captain had been dining alone in his cabin. Legless had gone to deliver him rum but had instead found Bleud on the dusty carpet of his quarters. The man’s grayish-brown eyes were wide open and bloodshot as if he had glimpsed the devil just before his final breath.

Voices of panic and curiosity echoed through the crowd until Flame swung over to the _Draw_ from his own vessel. “Dead, you say?” he decried from the port side railing. He whipped out his blade and pointed it at the crew, panning between one pirate and the next. “This reeks of mutiny, I say. Who be the scurvy dog that would dare betray our beloved leader, eh? Come forward, ye slimy coward, so as I can gut you meself!”

Flame wore a demeanor of ferocity and feigned loyalty as he regarded the terrified men. He had to ensure that no one would have the gall to cross blades with him and he was pleased with the results of the test.

“Cap’n Flame!” Legless cried. “Bleud was dining alone in his quarters, sir. How can we be sure this was a willful slaying on the part of a member of the crew?”

Flame ran a hand through his short red beard as he pretended to consider his first mate’s words. “Alone? Hm. Perhaps the good captain fell to sudden illness. Let me examine the body,” he proclaimed, nimbly hopping down onto the deck. He put away his sword as the men backed away, making a wide path for him through the crowd.

Flame climbed the stairs to the upper deck and Legless held open the door to the filthy but lush quarters that had once belonged to Bleud. Flame strutted straight back to the dining room and indeed the old captain was sprawled across the carpeted floor, one foot propped up on the stool from which he had fallen as the silent poison took hold.

Legless walked over, holding his wide-brimmed hat to his chest in a gesture of respect. Flame secretly rolled his eyes at the action but said nothing. Kneeling down, the disfigured Irishman checked Bleud’s pulse first and then swept his hand over the man’s face to close his bloodshot eyes. “Aye, he’s gone. No sign of a wound. Must have been an illness. Best to get rid of the body in case it’s infectious,” he said, rising to his feet.

Flame saw Legless’s throat tighten as he swallowed in apprehension. _“The spirits… it must be the spirits,”_ he murmured.

Flame raised an eyebrow. Though he had never believed any such horse dribble, he had often used a feigned superstitious nature to his advantage. “Aye, it must be…” he replied, appearing taken aback at the revelation.

“They’re angry we’ve foregone our mission against the Spanish, captain! They’ll kill more of us if we don’t head south!” Legless proclaimed.

Flame’s eyes widened momentarily. This was not going how he had planned. “Nay, methinks another explanation is in order,” he began, thinking quick on his feet. He instantly had Legless’s full attention so he started to pace the room as he speculated over the possibilities. “I found a document of interest on the supply ship just before ye called, mate. It identifies Rolfe as a Spaniard in disguise. The man was a spy against England and he got found out. He must have failed to mention this because he did not want us to know he would not fight against his Spanish brethren. He likely would have sabotaged our ambush! His heritage was the real reason for his death sentence, not treachery!”

Legless blinked in surprise as he listened to the Irishman reveal the surprising information. “That is startling news, captain. But how does it explain Bleud’s untimely death?” he inquired.

Flame abruptly turned to him. “Isn’t it obvious, fool? The Aztec spirits want us to hunt Spaniards. Rolfe is a Spaniard! They want us on his trail, not making merry with wenches and rum like Bleud here was so apt to do. He was punished for his frivolity. If we don’t catch the fugitive, we’ll be punished as well!”

Legless gasped. “Egads! We’ve got to tell the crew, sir!” he cried.

“I am the ship’s commander now, Legless. Don’t ye worry! I will keep the men safe from the wrath of vengeful ghosts. Just make sure the men swear fealty to me and you’ll have nothing to worry yourself over. Now we best get rid of the body. Bring in a few men to carry the corpse away, mate,” Flame fiendishly replied.

Legless nodded and disappeared from the room. Flame took the opportunity to snatch up all the pastries and the half-eaten croissant on the dining table, tossing them out the open-hatch window. So long as no one else ate them and keeled over, there would be little reason for suspicion against him. Now all he had to do was forge a false document identifying John Rolfe as a Spanish spy and all would go according to his design. He left the captain’s quarters and returned to his own vessel to carry out his fiendish plot.

…

Pocahontas swayed in exhaustion as they reached the leg of the river where they had begun their journey. The water flowed a bit faster here as the river was relatively narrow compared to miles downstream. They were finally back to their starting point yet they still had infinitely further to go until they reached home. Hundreds of miles.

Dark had fallen hours ago and it had officially been over twenty-four hours since they had last slept. The unexpected silence of the hunting parties troubled Rolfe as the dogs were no longer barking. Pocahontas thought they were resting but Rolfe was unsure. The silence did not sit well with him so he pushed onward despite immense fatigue.

As they trudged along, John Rolfe offered Pocahontas another piece of coconut to help keep her energy up but she turned it down. “No food. I need rest,” she pleaded. Every bone in her body felt like it bore a crushing weight. They had not sat down or even stopped hiking since she had saved Rolfe from the pirate Adahy that morning.

Rolfe put the food away and offered a hand instead. “Give me your pack. I’ll carry everything to make things easier on you,” he replied.

Pocahontas sighed in aggravation. “The dogs aren’t even barking anymore. Maybe they’ve given up and headed back south? I don’t see why we can’t rest for a bit,” she expressed, finally coming to a stop. She lowered herself to her knees in the sand, dropping the pilfered green pack to the ground beside her.

John Rolfe frowned but realized she was right. The only member of the group that was not exhausted was Flit as he had made a nest on Pocahontas’s head hours ago and was fast asleep therein. When Pocahontas stopped walking, Flit roused and looked up.

Rolfe glanced at the small bird. “Hey, Flit. We need to rest but we’re not sure if we’re still being followed. Can you keep watch and scout the area while we sleep? Wake us if our pursuers begin catching up to us, alright?” he implored, taking off his own satchel.

Flit yawned and nodded, zipping up from his spot on top of Pocahontas’s head. He sped off into the forest intent on checking the area in concentric circles around his four companions until he was sure they were all alone. “Alright,” Rolfe concluded, dropping his own satchel to the ground. He plopped down into the sand and stretched out, heaving a huge sigh of relief. “Oh God, yes. You were right, Pocahontas. This feels amazing,” he murmured, letting his tired bones sink into the supportive sand. His eyes fluttered as he scooted his satchel under his head. “I never thought just lying down could feel this good,” he murmured in a sleepy voice, yawning deeply.

Pocahontas stretched out perpendicular to him, same as before, and laid her head on his belly. She yawned as well. “I know… it’s amazing,” she whispered in reply. She really could not believe how exhausted she was. This moment did not even compare to after the first night with the pirates although she suspected it was likely a different story for John Rolfe. Percy stretched his back and collapsed by Pocahontas’s abdomen whereas Meeko curled up on Rolfe’s chest for warmth.

The trickling of the river water lulled Pocahontas, Rolfe, Meeko, and Percy to sleep as the stars twinkled overhead. Huddling combined with the warm humid weather allowed the four of them to stay relatively comfortable despite the lack of direct sunlight as they had had before. Despite their aching bones and muscles, they slept peacefully.

…

When the dogs collapsed, the hunting party was forced to stop for a rest as well. Manslaughter removed their muzzles and fed them before putting the muzzles back on. “No more than a few hours rest, men. It’ll be daylight in short order. We’re the only ones who can bring in the fugitives now. Flame and Bleud will have to rely on us,” Spike-Eyes plainly stated as Manslaughter dropped to the sand.

Manslaughter Sol slapped something on his knee. “Damn mosquitos,” he murmured. Spike-Eyes licked his forefinger and raised it up in the air to test the direction of the wind. It was a mild breeze but it appeared to be flowing north now. Unfortunately that gave the escapees somewhat of an advantage. If they were downwind from their pursuers, the small dog with them could possibly detect the pirates’ scents and alert them.

Demented Jake stretched his back and pointed to the woods. “Be right back, men. I’ve got to drain the dragon as it were,” he indicated, plodding off into the woods with his torch to light the way. He stumbled over logs and fallen debris until he was out of sight of the others. Then he jabbed the handle of his torch into a crotch between two branches of a live oak tree. As he was fiddling with the belt of his trousers, his foot got caught on a thorny vine and he stumbled backwards. The top of his head knocked the torch out of the tree crotch and the flaming stick fell to the forest floor.

Jake gasped and quickly grabbed it up but the flame had already spread to a dried leaf. He made to stomp it out only to discover that his foot was still caught by the thorny vine, causing him to tumble over. The force of his fall blew the flaming leaf a few feet away, out of reach. He gasped and tore his boot away from the thorns, running over to stomp out the burning leaf. However as he was gathering his wits a dancing light grew behind him, illuminating his figure against the dark trees.

His eyes widened as he spun around. In his pursuit of the burning leaf, he had left the torch itself in a pile of bone-dry forest debris. It was not just a small flame this time—it was a small fire that was rapidly growing into a massive bonfire. Jake nearly urinated on himself as he took to a sprint, stumbling over fallen logs to get back to the campsite by the river. “Fire!” he cried in alarm as he stumbled out of the woods.

Manslaughter and Spike-Eyes sprung to their feet. “You blundering idiot! You dropped your torch, didn’t ye?” the latter accused as the forest lit up the night. Spike-Eyes grabbed a hold of Jake’s neck and throttled him as the fire grew in the woods behind them.

“Quick! We’ve got to swim to the other side of the river!” Manslaughter proclaimed, ignoring the fighting between his brethren. He took the dogs by their leashes and skipped down the riverbank with the whining, sleep-deprived animals in pursuit.

“Ye ought to be burned alive for what you’ve done, bloody numskull!” Spike-Eyes spat. He whipped out his sword and threw the slighter Jake against a tree, impaling him against the wood with the blade through his shoulder. Jake screamed as the sword rent his flesh. His attacker ignored him and turned tail, following Manslaughter down into the river.

A strong wind blew as the fire crested the canopy, whisking the hot flames north at a rapid pace. Demented Jake could already feel the immense heat from the fire against his sides. His survival instinct numbed the pain from the blade and he grabbed hold of an overhead limb with one hand. He hung onto the flat of the sword with his other hand and did a midair crunch, lifting both feet off the ground and resting the soles on the cross-guards of the weapon. Taking a deep breath, he pushed with all his might and screamed in agony as the force began to tear the blade free from his flesh.

As Spike-Eyes was three times Jake’s size, the strong man had embedded the sword quite deep into the trunk of the tree. It took all of Demented Jake’s remaining strength to kick it out and he fell bleeding to the ground. There was little time to rest as he felt a flame lick at his heels moments later. He crawled down the riverbank with his good arm.

Spike-Eyes and Manslaughter had made it to the other side and were no longer in sight so Demented Jake simply rolled into the shallow water and kept his head low to protect his lungs from the smoke. He waded further out to avoid falling limbs, finding that the cool water somewhat soothed his shoulder wound.

…

With the crew under Flame’s full command, the men had moved all supplies from the supply ship over to the _Blood Draw_. There simply were not enough men to pilot both ships so they burned the stolen vessel and sailed north out of the bay. Legless was pleased to report that the winds had become favorable in that direction and the sinister ship was able to move quickly along the dark coast.

Captain Flame stood at the helm as the ship sailed swiftly through the dark Floridian waters. He fiendishly leaned forward and put a hand to his deformed ear, eavesdropping on a whispered conversation between two men on the deck below.

 _“They’re saying that Rolfe is actually a Spaniard. It must be the real reason King James sentenced him. If the rumors about Bleud’s death are to be believed, then we best catch the tart lest the accursed dead send plague over the whole ship,”_ a one-eyed man said.

His stocky companion nodded. _“I heard Rolfe’s real name is Juan Santino,”_ he added.

 _“No, you daft fool!”_ the other man snapped back. _“It’s Juan Ignacio. I just heard it meself from Legless. He says the cap’n’s found a document identifying Ignacio as a spy.”_

 _“Aye but that begets the question—what was the nature of the man’s relationship to the Injun wench? Maybe the girl was in on some plot against the English throne! If they were a threat to her tribe, it makes right good sense. Either that or those two were just lovers. You’d think that’d be the case with the way he rescued her,”_ replied the stockier pirate.

Flame’s lips curled into a grin as the men continued to spread the false rumors amongst themselves. He so loved superstition and gossip when they were of benefit to him. However the one-eyed man’s next comment troubled the captain slightly.

 _“I don’t know, mate. There’s something fishy about all of this. Why would the Injun ghosties want us to chase after a single Spaniard when we could be robbing and killing hundreds of the Catholic nut jobs?”_ he inquired, lowering his voice even more.

 _“Aye,”_ replied the stocky one. _“Methinks there’s more to this Juan fellow than we realize if the spirits want him dead above all others. Perhaps King James wanted it kept a secret… but why? What’s that royal bastard hiding?”_

The one-eyed man shrugged. _“Perhaps if we find Ignacio we can torture the truth out of the old Spanish dog. Hell, maybe we’ll even find the key to bringing down the whole Spanish empire—just consider the possibilities, mate! Think of all the gold stored in the palaces! We’d be rich beyond our wildest dreams…”_

Flame began to relax again when it appeared the men held no suspicion towards him. Everything was working out remarkably well. The only thing that bugged Flame now was the way the bosun kept glancing at him. The Irishman needed to remember how sharp the swarthy man was and to keep an eye on him lest he put the puzzle pieces together. 

Captain Flame drove the crew onwards for hours until an unusual light appeared on the distant horizon. Flame was the first to spot it and he whipped out his pocket telescope to get a better view. The Irishman whistled loudly over the rushing winds to get his first mate’s attention. Legless came over and the captain handed him the telescope, pointing north. “What make you of that? It appears the forest be alight,” he remarked.

Legless raised an eyebrow as he peered through the lens. “Aye, a forest fire it is. But what could have started the flame? The sky is clear with no signs of lightning to be seen in any direction,” he replied, lowering the telescope with a look of puzzlement on his face.

“No clue, mate,” Flame returned. “But perhaps we’ll get lucky and the flames will flush out our quarry. The ship is moving fast. We’re sure to catch up to their location in short order.” He took the telescope back from his companion and glanced through the lens again as the ship drew closer. It could be seen with the naked eye now. Some of the crew pointed northward as they discussed the development amongst themselves.

“Aye but what about the hunting parties? They could be incinerated by the inferno!” Legless pointed out.

“And your point is? If those fools are worthy of the crew, then they’ll find a way to get themselves to safety. ‘Sides if they perish we don’t have to keep Bleud’s promise to ‘em. We can keep that gorgeous French lass all to ourselves,” Flame replied, collapsing the telescope and dropping it back into his pocket. He had had his eye on Nicole since the raid on St. Augustine but he kept her locked down in the brig with the others to avoid distractions during their pursuit of the escapees.

“True but this could throw a wrench in our plans to track the fugitives. The fire will destroy the scent trail. Without the hounds being of use, it’ll be a lot harder to find Ignacio and his wench. Assuming they survive the fire,” Legless pointed out. “Plus Adahy could be killed. He’s our best human tracker.”

“An Injun would know what to do when a forest fire strikes. The louts all lived in a forest after all. As for the rest, we’ll have to wish them luck. There’s nothing we can do about it from here so no use bellyachin’ over the matter. We need to keep heading north and pray to the Aztecs we catch up to the fugitives,” Flame stated, putting an end to the discussion. He waved Legless off and turned the ship slightly eastward to keep the vessel out of the line of smoke. The ash would surely blind the crew if the winds changed slightly.

…

John Rolfe awoke to the feeling of something tapping against his temple. He sat up slowly, totally disoriented, and rubbed his eyes to clear his sleep-blurred vision. _“Wha’s happened? Wha’s goin on?”_ he slurred as he came to. Flit chirped loudly and turned to Pocahontas. Her head had fallen into Rolfe’s lap when the Englishman had sat up.

The frantic hummingbird began throwing his tiny body against Pocahontas’s cheek in an attempt to wake her. Rolfe noted that it was still dark out and realized they could not have been asleep for more than a few hours at most. Dread immediately struck him and he jumped up as Pocahontas roused from Flit’s harassment, rubbing her face as she sat up.

There was an orange light on the southern horizon. Rolfe knew immediately that it could not be the dawn—it was approaching much too quickly. He gasped loudly. “Pocahontas! The forest is on fire!” he cried. A herd of white-tailed deer from downriver charged out of the brush, heading in their direction. On the western riverbank a big brown bear ran as fast as its four legs could carry it, followed closely by two bear cubs. Bats and birds darted overhead. All the animals in the forest were fleeing the flames, heading north as fast as their claws, hooves, or wings could carry them.

Meeko climbed up to Rolfe’s shoulder as he grabbed Pocahontas. The Englishman dragged her into the river just before the deer stampede could trample her into the sand. Percy cried out, unable to get out of the path of the deer. He danced around clumsily, only barely managing to avoid sharp hooves as they ran over him at high speed. The entire forest was in an uproar as the strong wind blew the flames in their direction.

Some ways down the river Rolfe watched in horror as a flaming tree crashed down across the narrowing waterway. It effectively spread the fire to the west side of the river.

Pocahontas coughed and sputtered as a blast of smoke filled her lungs from the blazing inferno. It passed quickly and she struggled to stand in the rushing water. Looking up, she swiftly processed the dire situation that had arisen while they were sleeping.

“We’ll have to hide in the water! It’s our only chance!” Rolfe exclaimed, dragging her deeper into the middle of the narrow river. They were forced to hold onto a protruding rock to avoid being carried away by the rushing current.

Pocahontas glanced downstream and saw steam arising from the river there, mixing with the smoke from the fire. “John, no! The river is not wide or deep enough to protect us. Trees will come crashing down on us! The water could even boil if the fire is hot enough. We are not safe here. I’ve lived in forests all my life, I would know,” she told him.

Rolfe was about to reply when both he and Pocahontas spotted Flit on the riverbank squeaking in a frenzy and zipping around. He pointed a wing into the dense forest. “Come on,” Pocahontas said to Rolfe, grabbing his hand. “He must have found a way to safety. If we hurry, we can get there before the fire hits.”

“We’ll be incinerated!” Rolfe cried as she pulled him back to the eastern riverbank once the last of the deer herd had passed. “Please, Pocahontas, no! The forest is too dense. You might make it out alive but I’ll never keep up with you!” He was sweating heavily even though the flames had yet to reach them.

The thought of being burned alive was even more terrifying than death from a fall and he felt his knees trembling at the prospect of trying to stumble through a burning forest. He would much rather take his chances submerged in the river. “Follow Flit and escape,” he told her. “Here, take our supplies. Hurry!” He gave her both survival packs and put the turtle shell on her head, pushing her towards the edge of the woods.

Pocahontas turned back to John Rolfe with a furious expression. She grabbed him by his shirt collar and jerked him toward her. “You need to trust me! I’m not leaving you behind! We live together or die together!” she shouted at the top of her lungs over the approaching roar. She could tell Rolfe was fearful with the sweat pouring down his face but they could not let fear stop them from living to see the sunrise.

Rolfe hesitantly nodded and Pocahontas shoved his own satchel back into his hands. He speedily slung it over his shoulder as Pocahontas made a beeline for the dark woods, following her animal friends as they fled as fast as their four legs could carry them. Rolfe followed swiftly, hopping over a log between two close-knit trees.

The darkness did not last long as the inferno drew near, lighting up the woods brighter than a thousand bonfires. The trees, branches, dead logs, and dried debris burst into flame faster than John Rolfe could move through the challenging landscape. Pocahontas was forced to slow her pace to help him over a variety of obstacles. Cuts and scratches from thorns marred their faces and bodies as they pushed through a thick line of bushes but adrenaline numbed them to the pain as they fought for survival.

The wind howled furiously above the forest canopy. Whipping the high leaves and branches into a frenzy, the gale brought the hellish inferno ever closer. Flit buzzed around them and squeaked frantically in an attempt to hurry them along.

At last the fire was upon them and they had to hop around in the brush as they ran just to prevent the flames from licking the skin from their legs. With hot feet, they thankfully reached a small clearing in the flaming forest. Rolfe coughed and wheezed from the smoke as he caught up with Pocahontas, noting that she had dropped the turtle shell at some point during their flight. He no longer cared as the situation had just worsened considerably. Pocahontas forced his head down to keep him from breathing in the smoke as she kicked the sparser burning debris aside, making a path for them.

The intense heat grew as they ran and John Rolfe tripped over a protruding tree root, causing Pocahontas to skid to a stop. She looked back at him in horror when she heard a crack from high up in the trees. The massive limb of a giant pine tree broke off and plummeted to earth. Pocahontas screamed and raced back as fast as her feet could carry her, knocking Rolfe out of the way of the limb with the full force of her body.

John Rolfe rolled out of harm’s way as the branch landed and Pocahontas howled in pain. “Pocahontas, NO!” he cried, scrambling back to his feet. Her left foot was trapped beneath the heavy, partly burning tree limb. Flit squeaked in terror as the fire surrounded them. More branches overhead cracked as burning leaves and twigs fell all around the group. Rolfe coughed and crawled over to his beloved, trying in vain to pull her away from the fallen branch. He stopped when she screamed in pain.

Pocahontas coughed and hacked, her body going limp as her consciousness faded. Rolfe knew the massive flaming branch would be near impossible to lift but he had to try. He would have to use leverage to his advantage so he rapidly analyzed the length of the limb. About ten feet down from Pocahontas, he found an area where the wood was high enough above the ground that he could scoot his body beneath it. He crawled over and lay down. With his back to the dirt, he heaved and pushed upwards against the log with all his might. Flit watched as the Englishman’s face turned from white, to pink, to red, to purple and a series of veins swelled his forehead from the immense effort.

It took all the strength Rolfe had left in his body to lift the branch even an inch but it was enough. “Move your leg, Pocahontas!” he called to her through clenched teeth. To his horror, he glanced over to find that she was out cold. “Pocahontas, no!” he cried.

Just then Meeko and Percy reappeared in the clearing having realized the humans had fallen behind. Unable to speak as his strength began to give out, Rolfe pointed to Pocahontas with his free hands. He pointed to his own leg and mimed a pulling action.

The two larger animals rushed over the moment they understood. Percy grabbed at Pocahontas’s pants with his teeth and Meeko used his claws. It took all of their combined strength but they managed to jerk Pocahontas’s boot out from under the tree limb just as John Rolfe’s strength gave out completely. The Englishman screamed in anguish as he knew the limb would crush Pocahontas’s ankle. To his great relief, he quickly discovered that Meeko and Percy had succeeded in their mission.

Pocahontas lay unconscious in the dirt as flaming leaves fluttered around her body. Her wet clothes did not catch fire readily thanks to the water from the river. However the heat from the fire was rapidly drying them out, same with Rolfe’s clothes.

John Rolfe yelped and pulled back as flames engulfed the part of the limb he had been pushing against. He closed his eyes and whispered a desperate prayer to God to temporarily restore his strength so he could save Pocahontas from the inferno.

Heaving with the effort, he pulled himself back to his feet when he had thought he could not possibly do so. He stumbled over to Pocahontas and struggled to lift her over his shoulder. Meeko and Percy helped him get her up and he looked around through weary eyes, searching for an escape route that was not blocked by a wall of flames.

Flit squeaked at him and zipped northward, following the clearing. John Rolfe, Meeko, and Percy trudged in the hummingbird’s direction. Rolfe felt like his skin was about to catch fire until he finally caught sight of a route to the beach just up ahead. He had to sear his boots on a burning log to get there but he reached the end of the flaming woodland.

Though Rolfe was still coughing madly, a cool breeze from the ocean brought him a much-needed breath of fresh air. In his exhaustion, he collapsed the moment he made it to the sand. With Pocahontas draped across his back, he crawled away from the flames and down the sloping beach until he reached cool, moist sand a few meters up from the surf.

Meeko, Flit, and Percy looked at them in concern as John Rolfe gently laid Pocahontas out on her back. The English diplomat feared the worst as she did not appear to be breathing. He pinched her delicate nose shut and clamped his lips over her mouth, inflating her chest as he pumped clean air into her.

A tremor ran through her body as she rolled onto her side, heaving and wheezing terribly to clear her blackened lungs. She was alive and Percy immediately rejoiced. Meeko and Flit were shocked at first. It appeared to them that Rolfe had literally brought the woman back to life. However they quickly gave in to the impulse to celebrate with Percy.

John Rolfe collapsed to the sand in front of Pocahontas, pulling her head to his chest as she slowly regained consciousness. Nothing needed to be said between them. They had in a spiritual sense been reborn that night. Like certain creatures of myth, they had risen from the flames changed profoundly and irreversibly for the experience.

John Rolfe and Pocahontas’s wakefulness did not last long as they felt their eyelids fluttering from exhaustion. As the high tide moved out, the sound of gentle waves lulled them both to sleep in each other’s arms. It was not long before Meeko, Percy, and Flit joined them, the group all huddling together on the soft beach sand.


	7. Swamp Blues

****Adahy watched as the muzzled animal swam around the lake in concentric circles. Now that his pirate brethren had left him for dead, he was severely parched from the heat. Even crawling over to the water’s edge for a drink seemed like an insurmountable task. His only hope was to use the ancient art of _nepi peneta_ to reach out to the hound with his mind. He had not practiced in years. Now he had no choice but to try it once more. Blood loss had severely drained his physical and mental energies but it was a warrior’s most sacred duty to persevere through such odds.

Adahy saw promise in the canine’s equally dire situation. The creature would surely starve to death with the muzzle binding its jaws shut. The dying man could use the dragonfly blackstone dagger to easily cut the binding material away. He would not even need to use his hands—he could hold the blade with his feet if necessary. The spirit had the power to slice through thick materials with very little pressure applied by the wielder. It had aided Adahy many times before in past escapes.

The earlier disaster had left the spirit drained though. Adahy could not even hear its voice in the shallow depths of the lake. The dog was their only hope to be reunited. Adahy closed his eyes and uttered a chant below his breath. With his body so numb from blood loss, he found it surprisingly easy to stretch his spirit out from the confines of its physical form. _Nepi peneta_ was a dangerous practice. If the mind was not robust, the spirit could lose its grip on the tether between itself and the fresh. Then the body would die without a mind to feed it and the spirit would be lost to wander the earth for eternity.

Adahy kept a tight hold on his body as he reached out to the wading animal. He did not think he would make it but then the dog paddled back in his direction. The demon dagger had to be trying to contact the beast as well—otherwise the dog would have made for land already. Something was drawing it in, keeping its attention fixated in the lake.

The dog swam closer and at last Adahy was able to touch it. He spoke directly into its animal mind the type of sweet promises that would most appeal to its kind—a master and a meal. Dogs were such loyal creatures and Adahy had always held the domesticated breeds in a special place in his heart on account of their loving, obedient natures.

Suddenly the dog dove down below the surface and Adahy lost contact with it. He could only pray to the Copichican gods that the French breed was an intelligent one. The task of retrieving the dagger without using its jaws would be challenging for any being lacking opposable thumbs. The dog returned to the surface and continued circling again.

Adahy’s spirit sighed in aggravation. With very little energy left, he was forced to retreat back into his physical form. When his eyes opened, his vision was brown. He could feel his life-force fading and he feared the worst for his afterlife. To be defeated at the hands of a woman was the ultimate shame for a warrior of his creed. He bit his lip in anguish as he wondered how he had fallen so far from grace. Though the legends had been vague, they had always implied that some unimagined horror awaited fallen warriors after death.

Adahy lost track of time as he dwelt in his woe. An unexpected sensation brought him back to consciousness. Something smooth and wet brushed over his face, causing his eyes to snap open. The sopping dog was standing over him, panting and slobbering as best it could through the narrow confines of the muzzle. He glanced to the sand past the animal’s feet and spotted the dragonfly blackstone dagger lying there.

…

Captain Flame stared out at the mass of smog lining the shores in frustration. The skeletal treetops that had once formed a dense canopy were the only things visible over the gray pall. The wind blew the fumes slightly northeast, keeping the shoreline shrouded. The wildfires had died but clouds of noxious smoke still drifted through broad daylight.

“If the wildfire flushed them out of the forest, we’ll not be able to spot them from here. Send someone out in a cock boat to follow us along the shore. We’ll keep ‘em tethered to the ship. And tell the men on deck to put handkerchiefs o’er their faces as we cannot avoid the smoke any longer,” Captain Finley Flame told Legless, collapsing his telescope as the ship neared the flowing wall of dense fumes.

Legless hesitated. “Captain… the men on deck are saying there’s a good chance the fugitives are dead. If their corpses were incinerated, we’re never going to find them. Perhaps it’s time to send the signal to the hunting parties and give up the search, eh?” he advised, resisting the urge to wring his hands nervously.

Flame turned on his first mate darkly. “Who precisely be saying such reckless things, mate?” he hissed in warning.

Legless backed up a bit as the captain’s ice-cold eyes bore into him like razor-edged ice crystals. He had to think fast. “You think they’re still alive, captain? How can we be sure?” he added, careful to keep his voice steady. “And even if they are, the dogs might be dead. How could we hope to find them now?”

Flame immediately suspected Legless when the man failed to answer the question. He felt a spike of rage in his chest but then a sinister idea began to take form in the Irishman’s brain before he could unleash it. He turned back to the helm to dissolve the tension between the two of them, cleverly lulling Legless back into a state of false security. “Hm, let me think on this,” he told the man in a thoughtful tone. His piqued ears could hear a very minute sigh of relief coming from Legless and he grinned out of view.

Despite his words Flame’s first priority was to ensure that the sentiment really had spread amongst the crew as Legless would have him believe. The fiery-haired captain put the man at the helm and quietly sent out a party in one of the cock boats as planned. Then he began stalking quietly around the lower deck to eavesdrop on conversations.

…

Rolfe was the first to awaken when the rising tide lapped lightly at his hand. He sat up and glanced around, unable to determine how long they had been asleep. The decimated forest still smoked heavily even though the fire had died, obscuring the sky. The light penetrating the pall suggested full daylight but the sun’s location was indeterminable.

Pocahontas breathed steadily beside him. He could feel her warm breath through the threadbare cloth of his shirt. When the sea surf nudged him again he finally sat up, placing Pocahontas’s head gently on the firm sand so he could get his bearings.

Rolfe gasped when he stretched up. He could feel a cascade of crackles descend his back just from lifting his arms. The wildfire fiasco had left him infinitely sore. Meeko, Percy, and Flit slowly roused as Rolfe tried to gingerly stretch the stiffness out of his aching body. When he was done, he checked himself over for burns. He checked Pocahontas and the animals over as well. Though they were all covered with ash and soot, he was relieved to find that no one appeared to have any severe or disfiguring injuries. He wished he could say as much for his boot as the melted heel gave him an uneven walk.

Feeling around, Rolfe realized he still had his survival pack draped over his shoulder. All the supplies he originally brought appeared to be accounted for but he could not find the turtle shell or Pocahontas’s machete. He gasped when he realized the pirate’s green pack with the extra food was missing. He still had a bit of cooked turtle meat and coconut in his own pack as well as a skin of water but that was all they had now for sustenance. They would have to find more food soon. The ashen forest would yield little so it was imperative they continue their journey north into fresh terrain at once.

Rolfe’s first thought was to return to the river to fill the spare skins. He was busy strategizing their next move when the surf lapping at the melted boot heel grabbed his attention. Meeko cooed up at him in curiosity whereas Percy began licking the ash and soot out of his own fur. Pocahontas groaned softly in her slumber as the saltwater surf tickled her fingertips. Grunting in pain, Rolfe bent over and gingerly picked her up. He carried her a few feet up the beach to escape the rising tide.

“Pocahontas, love?” Rolfe said, gently shaking her in his arms to wake her up. She did not react at first so he pressed a deep kiss to her lips. Finally her eyelids fluttered lightly as she emerged from her sleep, groaning and rubbing her eyes. Rolfe grinned down at her. “I’ve got good news and bad news. Good news is… we’re alive!” he announced.

Pocahontas and Rolfe both coughed a bit when a gust of wind blew smoke at them. Most of the smoke rose overhead and funneled downward, drawn there by the coolness of the ocean water. It gave them some breathing space although the wind could be somewhat erratic now and again. “How long were we asleep?” Pocahontas inquired in a rough voice, draping her arms around Rolfe’s neck lazily.

“Not sure. It’s hard to tell what time of day it is from all the smoke but the fire has gone out so I believe it is safe to go back in the forest,” he replied, gently lowering her to her feet. When she made to stand at his prompting, she abruptly cried out and fell to her knees. Rolfe instantly panicked. “Oh no! Your leg… the log must have injured you! How could I forget?” he exclaimed, chiding himself as he lifted her back into his arms.

Percy, Meeko, and Flit looked worried as Rolfe placed her on her back on the fine sand. “It’s not my leg,” Pocahontas replied, squeezing her eyes shut in discomfort. “It’s my ankle. It hurts bad.” She hissed in pain as she held the injured part up above the sand.

Rolfe gritted his teeth in concern. “Oh dear. I hope it’s not broken. Let’s see what the trouble is, shall we?” he suggested, placing a hand under her calf to support it. He gently pushed her pant leg up to reach the top of her boot.

To their great fortune, the boots were too large for Pocahontas. Rolfe was able to slide the footwear off easily without hurting her. Her ankle was swollen and purple all around and Rolfe gaped when he saw it. “That doesn’t look good at all. I can’t tell with the swelling if there are any broken bones or not. For all I know, it could even be dislocated.”

“I think it is just badly twisted. I have had this kind of injury before though not as bad. It will need some kind of binding.” Pocahontas looked westward to the blackened forest. “We need to get to fresh forest to find food. I don’t suppose you can help me fashion a crutch out of a burned branch, can you? I can’t even limp in this condition.”

Rolfe gently bound her ankle with some spare linen from his pack. Since she could not wear her own boot, he tossed his ruined one aside and replaced it with hers. The man-sized footwear fit him better anyway and he needed to have an even walk for long distance travel. Once he was done, he hefted Pocahontas up into his arms. “I don’t think that will be necessary, love,” he replied. “Plus it’s best if we keep that leg elevated. Now let’s go back to the river and fill all the water pouches for the journey.”

Pocahontas felt around her body and gasped. “John! The green pack, I think I dropped it! And my machete… where’s my machete?” she cried in panic.

“I know, I know,” Rolfe replied, sighing. “That’s the bad news I was going to tell you. I doubt the pack survived the flames but the other items might be alright. We just have to search for them. Shouldn’t be too hard as the fire burned up most of the forest debris,” he explained, hiking up the beach towards the burned woodland.

As the skeletal forest rose up before them through the plumes of obscuring smoke, Rolfe frowned in dismay. He stopped just before entering the woods. “It’s a pity,” he murmured in a low voice, standing in the ash-laden sand. “There was so much life before and now it’s gone. We best hope the destruction doesn’t extend too far or we’re in trouble.”

Pocahontas noted the saddened tone to his voice. “The forest is not dead, John,” she told him. “Forests burn from time to time. Contrary to appearances, most of these trees are still alive. Some plants cannot cast seeds nor exist without fire.”

Rolfe raised a brow and met eyes with her. “Really?” he uttered, surprised. He had little idea of how nature worked beyond what he had studied in the Bible and the classroom. Growing up in London, his knowledge of forests and even farm work was very limited. Any time he had spent in a natural landscape before now had always been very brief.

Pocahontas nodded. “Granted, fires of this caliber are rare. Most fires are much milder. Sometimes I’ve walked through a burning forest just to watch the land reborn,” she explained, reminiscing on the experiences of her childhood. “There is a kind of beauty in the destruction,” she expressed, using her gaze to point out a small bud emerging on the trunk of a black tree—likely the very first of its kind.

John Rolfe raised both eyebrows as he spotted it, stepping closer. The burned bark had peeled away like a scab from healing flesh as the sprout emerged. “I had no idea,” he admitted. Had his arms not been full, he would have been tempted to reach out and touch the tender shoot. “Guess that just goes to show how much I know, doesn’t it?” He laughed, shrugging as he stepped over the remains of a log. The forest was mostly silent but Rolfe did not fail to notice a few small songbirds returning to the woodland. The animals flew just over their heads, keeping below the bulk of the smoke.

John Rolfe carried Pocahontas through the clearing. Meeko, Percy, and Flit followed behind them, checking out the results of the fire with interest. When Rolfe got to the place where Pocahontas’s injury had occurred, he recognized the large limb responsible instantly despite its radically altered appearance. The wood had been reduced to a pile of white ash and dust and the Englishman used his feet to shuffle through the soot.

Meeko started digging through the ash a few feet away as well and abruptly got John Rolfe and Pocahontas’s attention when he purred up at them. They looked down just as the raccoon dragged Pocahontas’s machete from the fire debris. The handle was a bit charred but the blade itself was intact.

“My machete!” Pocahontas cried happily as her furry friend offered her the item. She picked it up and admired it. “Thanks, Meeko!” She refastened the beloved possession to her belt as Rolfe adjusted her position to facilitate the task.

“Well that’s a relief,” Rolfe said. “It would have been a pity to permanently lose such a useful tool.” Just then he felt the tip of his boot bump into something. He nudged it out of the ash and recognized it as the dreaded turtle shell. “Oh… so that’s where that thing went off to,” he murmured. Meeko blew the soot off the shell and into Percy’s face. The pug dog sneezed a few times and then yipped at the raccoon in irritation.

John Rolfe secretly regretted having found the turtle shell. He feared Pocahontas would make him wear it again as soon as the smoke from the wildfire vanished. He frowned as he noticed the plumes getting thinner and wispier overhead and frowned even deeper when Percy pulled a scrap of the green pack out of the ash. True to his instincts, the extra supplies had not survived the wildfire. The food was gone.

Pocahontas made no note of the pack’s remains as she caught sight of the turtle shell. “Great! Now I still have something to cook in,” she expressed cheerfully, stretching down to take it from Meeko’s outstretched paws. She suddenly stopped and hissed in pain, reaching for her injured ankle instead.

“Pocahontas! What’s wrong, love?” John Rolfe cried. “I didn’t bump you into anything, did I?” he inquired frantically, his eyes darting around.

Pocahontas shook her head. “No, I have to remember not to get too excited. I moved it by accident,” she replied, calming down as the pain eased. “I’m okay now. It only hurts if I try to rotate the joint,” she explained, draping her arms around Rolfe’s shoulders again.

Pocahontas and John Rolfe watched in puzzlement as Meeko put the shell on his own back and crawled around stupidly, pretending to be a tortoise. When Flit started squawking at him in annoyance, Pocahontas’s good humor returned as she laughed at their antics. Percy just rolled his eyes and ignored them both. “Right then,” Rolfe abruptly said. “If you like it so much, Meeko, then you can carry it. Now let’s head back to the river. I should like to wash this soot from my face and clothes.”

…

Far south of where the fire had hit, Demented Jake stumbled through the brush in hope of finding one of the other hunting parties sent from the ship. He had heard a dog-like howl in the distance and thought he knew the general direction they would be in. It appeared that they had kept further inland in case the fugitives tried to hide in the forest.

Demented Jake’s shoulder gash had become badly infected. Since Spike-Eyes had taken all the supplies, he would need to find one of the other parties to get alcohol to clean out his wound. After recovering his health, his next goal would be to travel north as fast as he could and slaughter his betrayers. He was driven by revenge.

Thinking he heard a distant shout, he hiked for miles until he came to a much denser forest. To his surprise, he had not heard the sounds of men up ahead as he expected he would. It was not until he stumbled through the brush that he discovered the reason for this. One man’s remains laid strewn across the forest floor in many pieces. He could not recognize the individual because the head and upper torso were gone but he immediately knew the cause was an animal attack. Human footprints leading away indicated that the other men had fled eastward during the attack. While it clearly had been an ambush, bullet indentations on nearby trees suggested the pirates had tried to kill the creature—whatever it was. It was unclear if the beast had been wounded but large paw prints leading north left Jake with little doubt about the direction he should avoid heading in.

A sudden, intense pain struck the pirate’s shoulder like a knife. Jake gasped and fell to his knees, placing a hand on the festering injury. He could feel blood and puss dripping through his fingers. The infection was getting worse with the heat and humidity. He searched frantically through the dead man’s scattered belongings to find something to treat the wound with but it appeared the others had snatched the most critical supplies as their mate was being eaten. Unable to travel any further, he finally collapsed and prayed for a miracle he would never receive.

…

John Rolfe stalked through the burnt forest with Pocahontas in his arms. To his surprise, it took less than five minutes to reach the stretch of forest from whence they had come. It only served as a reminder of how quickly the terrible flames had descended upon the subtropical woodland. Though he did not look closely, Rolfe thought he spotted black skeletal remains of some unfortunate creature partially buried in the ash as he emerged onto the unrecognizable riverbank. He stopped and stared.

John Rolfe could do nothing but gape at first. The water in the narrow river had largely evaporated from the fire’s intense heat, leaving nothing but a muddy trench. Rolfe knew immediately there was no way they would have survived if they had not followed Flit to the nearby beach. It was a certainly and one that Rolfe dreaded to acknowledge.

Pocahontas did not seem too surprised by the river’s desiccation. “The land will need a big rainstorm to refill the river. That may or may not happen anytime soon so we need to keep heading north. Hopefully there will eventually be a river delta flooding into the sea that will be too wide for the wildfire to have crossed. The land on the other side should still be green and provide food for us. Are you sure you can carry me that far, John?” Pocahontas inquired in a worrisome tone.

Pocahontas’s question knocked John Rolfe out of his stupor rather quickly. “Not like this,” he hesitantly replied. “My arms will tire. You’ll need to hop up on my back. I’m sure I could carry you much further without resting in that manner.”

Pocahontas nodded and Rolfe gently lowered her onto her good foot. Still providing her support, he pivoted his body around and crouched down to allow her to jump up on his back. She wrapped her legs around his waist to keep herself in place and Rolfe laced his arms under her knees to give her extra support. “Comfortable?” he asked.

Pocahontas nodded softly as she draped her arms over his shoulders. They headed north again at a good walking pace. Rolfe checked the compass to make sure the muddy riverbed was not veering them off course every thirty or so minutes. He was amazed at how far the ferocious forest fire had traveled in such short time. On the plus side, its decimation of forest debris made it easier for Rolfe to walk fast without stumbling.

Several hours passed and the smoke cleared enough that the sun came into view as it leaned to the western horizon. The riverbed had narrowed further, breaking off to the west every now and again until the once-great waterway had been reduced to nothing but a shallow stream with barely a trickle of water in it. Pocahontas found herself lost in the emerging magenta-blue sky when she felt Rolfe stop suddenly. Glancing down at his face, she saw that his eyes were wild with fright. “John? What is it?!”

Rolfe opened his mouth to speak but closed it again. The look of terror on his face intensified. Pocahontas felt her heart pounding in her chest until Rolfe shook his head, thus restoring his wits. “Pocahontas… I think we need to be more careful about getting in the water around here from now on…” the Englishman finally murmured as he stared down at the charred remains of what had once been a very large reptilian creature with enormous jaws and countless razor-sharp teeth.

Pocahontas squealed in alarm when she caught sight of it. She gaped at the skeleton as she felt Rolfe slowly back away. Whatever the animal was, it had been about the size of both of them combined. “I don’t even want to know what that thing was. Let us just hope the living specimens don’t run too fast if we have the misfortune of encountering one,” he expressed, mentally adding, _And God willing they be much smaller…_

“It looks like it had pretty short legs, whatever it was,” Pocahontas uttered back as Rolfe climbed up the bank to pass by the carcass with as much distance between them and it as possible. Though it was stone-cold dead, he still did not want to get anywhere near it.

“That doesn’t mean anything. Snakes have no legs at all yet some can slither faster than a human can run,” Rolfe countered. Pocahontas gritted her teeth as she saw the fearless raccoon curiously crawl down the bank to sniff at the charred bones.

“Come on, Meeko. It’s dead,” Pocahontas called to him. They marched for another hour until a dank smell began to permeate the atmosphere. Pocahontas and Rolfe crinkled their noses. Meeko and Percy sniffed the air in curiosity. Then Pocahontas licked her fingertip and held it up to test the breeze. “The wind has stalled. In fact I think it’s begun drifting slightly south again,” she said. “Whatever that smell is, it’s coming from up ahead.”

Rolfe glanced up at the bare treetops, noting that the dying wisps of smoke from the wildfire had indeed shifted directions. “I wonder what it could be,” he replied.

“No clue. Even swamps in my homeland do not smell that bad in the hottest part of summer,” Pocahontas revealed. She started to fan herself with her hand. “Speaking of heat, I can’t wait to get up north again,” she added with a tone of weariness.

“Agreed. Being so close to each other’s body heat can’t be helping us much. Maybe we should stop here for the night. Whatever is up ahead, I’d rather not face it in the dark,” Rolfe replied, letting her slip down off his back.

“But I’m so thirsty,” Pocahontas fussed. “And we ran out of water hours ago. It will be cooler to travel at night. We will lose less moisture that way.” She stood on her good foot and pivoted around to get ahold of a charred tree trunk.

Rolfe suddenly collapsed in fatigue, groaning from the pain in his back and shoulders. He tried to pivot around but his muscles felt stiff. Doing his best to ignore the discomfort, he turned carefully to Pocahontas. “Yeah, I’m completely parched too. But I still get the feeling we’re not going to find fresh water for a while. At least, let us take a small rest.”

Pocahontas sighed and conceded to his request, lowering herself gently to the bank with his assistance. Rolfe scooped a pile of soft sand together to elevate her injured limb.

As Pocahontas let herself relax, she watched Meeko descend the shallow trench. Perhaps she and John Rolfe were unwilling to drink the muddy water trickling in the stream bed but Meeko did not have such high standards. Neither did Percy as he seemed to follow suit. As soon as Meeko sniffed the water however, he squealed in a high-pitched voice and made a beeline in the opposite direction.

Rolfe raised an eyebrow as he watched the raccoon run past them and climb up a charred tree faster than the nimblest squirrel. He glanced down the bank and watched Percy sniff the water as well. The pug dog had the exact same reaction and ran past the two of them yipping and yelping, nearly colliding with Pocahontas’s injured ankle in the process. “What in the blazes is wrong with those two?” he said in bewilderment.

Out of curiosity, the Englishman rose to his feet and went over to the water. He cupped some of the muddy liquid in the palms of his hands and brought it up to his face to take a whiff. The moment he did an acute gag reflex assaulted his abdominal muscles. He jumped to his feet and frantically shook the putrid water off of his hands. “Oh, my God! That’s absolutely revolting!” he exclaimed.

“What is it, John?” Pocahontas inquired, shifting herself slightly in the sand to get a better view of what he was doing. She looked completely confounded.

“That smell… it’s coming from the water! It’s horrific! It’s like something died in it, I tell you! Most disgusting thing I’ve ever… Ew! It’s all over my hands!” John Rolfe cried, rubbing them dry in the white sand. “Well I guess I should’ve just trusted Meeko and Percy’s judgment and stayed clear of it. That was a dumb thing to do.”

“Wait but…? Oh no! John, if the water coming from the north is undrinkable now… what are we going to do? In this heat, we won’t last long without water,” Pocahontas quickly determined. “There might not be any good water for many miles for all we know!”

Rolfe looked up at Pocahontas. “All we can do is keep traveling and hope we find some. Now hush, there’s no use worrying over something we can’t control,” he retorted, rubbing his hands together to get the sand off. He began to walk back over to her. “Just our luck though. Nothing but saltwater and smelly freshwater around us for who knows how many—Oomph!” he said, abruptly cut off when he landed flat on his face.

While the sand had cushioned his fall, it had done nothing to assuage his rage. He glanced lividly down the bank to see what had tripped him. It looked like a big black rock lodged in the sand at first. There had not been many rocks along their route, especially not ones the size of a human head. Not that Rolfe cared. He still wanted to destroy the blasted thing with acid and dynamite.

“What is that?” Pocahontas inquired as Rolfe furiously dug the offending item out of the ground. He pulled it up with little effort and heard something slosh around inside. His anger evaporated in an instant and he glanced at Pocahontas with a starstruck expression. “What?!” she repeated more urgently.

A grin slowly curled Rolfe’s lips upward. “Pocahontas, I think God has seen fit to grant us an iota of mercy this fine evening,” _though He certainly could’ve done so in a more dignified manner_ , he internally sassed. Just then a bug predictably flew into his eye. “Oh! Darn it!” he snapped, madly rubbing at his eyelid.  He stumbled back and haphazardly dropped the coconut right next to Pocahontas. She picked it up.

The fire’s heat had charred the outside, making it all the easier to get through to the fibrous husk. With a good bit of effort, Pocahontas was able to tear a small strand off. Her eyes brightened immediately. “A sweet nut!” she joyfully cried.

After Rolfe had cleared the bug out of his eye, he sat down beside her. “Yes. And where there’s one, there’s probably more,” he expressed. “They seem to grow in clusters.”

“Quick, open it! I’m so thirsty!” Pocahontas pleaded, pushing it into his hands.

“Alright! Hold your horses,” John Rolfe replied, taking the item from her. He tore the rest of the husk off with ease and poked open the three indentations on the top with a sharp seashell. Then he gave it back to Pocahontas.

Pocahontas downed about half of the liquid, savoring its sweetness, until she noticed John Rolfe walking away. He seemed to be looking for something. “Where are you going? Don’t you want some?” she asked, holding up the nut to him.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “I’m looking for more. I’m sure there’s got to be some around here,” he replied, shuffling his feet around in the ashen debris by the forest. A few of the charred trees looked to be nut-bearers. He used his hands to dig through the sandy soot and eventually came up with something. “Ah, I found one! Go ahead and finish that one. We’ll need enough to rehydrate all five of us to continue our journey. Meeko, Percy! Get over here and help. Sniff out some nuts for us, will you?”

Everyone but Pocahontas engaged in the search. Even Flit buzzed around in search of coconuts because the fire had burned up all the flowers in the forest. Like the rest of them, he would need the sweet milk to survive until they reached fresh terrain. Of course his consumption was very little so Pocahontas allowed him some of hers before she finished it up and split open the shell with her machete for the sweet white meat inside.

Together John Rolfe, Meeko, Percy, and Flit were able to find seven charred coconuts along the forest’s edge. Though they would still need more to fully rehydrate, it was enough to keep them alive for the time being. They drank five of the nuts, saving the last two for the next day’s journey, and finished up the turtle meat and leftover coconut meat from the day before. Finally they laid down in the sand to go to sleep.

…

Though the blade had demanded the dog’s pain to renew some of its energy, Adahy could not bring himself to torment the creature that had saved his life. He offered his own body instead though the spirit sneered at his weak compassion. The agony that followed had been like nothing Adahy had ever felt but it had regenerated the dagger to the point that the spirit was in turn able to lend him more strength. Effectively they had saved each other’s lives. Limping along at a slow pace, he glanced back at the dog following him. After he had used the blade to cut off the muzzle, the dog obediently carried the dagger in its mouth to ease its new master’s burden. He smiled at the animal and kept moving.

All they needed now was a host for the blade. Adahy had his eyes set on the treacherous scum who had left him for dead. He followed the tracks of Spike-Eyes’s party until he came to something quite unexpected. Up ahead it appeared the forest had been decimated by some out-of-control wildfire. He wondered if the northerly winds the previous night had inspired the wicked threesome to set the forest alight in an attempt to kill the fugitives. Knowing the habits of pirates, it would not surprise him if they had wearied of the search and found a way to get the crew back to treasure-hunting.

Adahy felt their collective energies weakening even with the meager life-force the dagger had lent him. It would all be over soon if they did not find a victim to revitalize the demon. Adahy assessed the tracks to discover the pirates had passed the river to evade the fire. He carefully waded across the shallow water. The level of the river had fallen immensely and the water barely moved at a snail’s pace. This proved beneficial for Adahy as it was much easier to cross a languid river without the use of his hands.

The dog followed Adahy across and they continued to follow the tracks on the western side of the deadened waterway. It seemed one of the pirates had separated from the others. Glancing across to the eastern side of the river, Adahy saw a sword poking out of the ash at the trunk of a charred tree. He realized a fight might have broken out, perhaps concerning the fire, though he could not guess the exact nature of the exchange.

Adahy followed the lone one’s prints deep into the forest because it would be a much simpler task to ambush a single man. When night fell, the dog lent its nose to continue following their quarry as the tracks were no longer visible in the dark. What they came upon many miles later both surprised and disappointed Adahy. Sparse moonlight showed the man—Demented Jake—lying immobile on the littered ground. The dagger had no use for corpses and Adahy cursed loudly to himself at the wretchedness of his luck.

The ‘corpse’ flinched at the sound of his voice and Adahy’s eyes widened. He heard Jake groan and weakly try to push himself up with his good arm. The copper-skinned man’s first reaction was a fiendish manner of glee and he suddenly felt amused when he thought he saw Jake’s eyes light up. The fool thought Adahy was there to rescue him.

“I’ve been looking for you, mates. What manner of beast attacked the crew, eh?” Demented Jake murmured in a disoriented tone.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Adahy snapped back, frowning. If the man had gone insane, he would be of little use to the spirit in the blade. Lunatics provided only a fraction of the energy of sane men for one reason or another.

Demented Jake gasped in recognition of the voice and shot up despite the pain. He stared with wide eyes at Adahy’s poorly lit figure in the moonlight. Jake was speechless at first but then a look of horror crept onto his face. It was to his fortune that he could not see the grin that crept onto Adahy’s face at the same time. “Brother, I’m glad you are alive,” Jake began weakly, nervously. He shook his head and grasped his shoulder as more puss oozed from the wound. “That cur Spike-Eyes… he never would have let me save you. I was going to but he stopped me. We can hunt him down together. Help me and I’ll help you. I can be your hands!” he pleaded as the threatening warrior approached.

Adahy’s grin fell and he glanced down at the two stumps where his hands had once been. He gritted his teeth. _He is more useful to us as harvest. Don’t trust his lies. His kind never keeps their word,_ the dagger whispered to him in a weak voice. It must have sensed a feeding was coming or else it would not have bothered to waste energy by speaking.

 _“I know…”_ Adahy whispered back in a low tone.

Jake grinned and breathed a quiet sigh of relief. “You’ll help me then? Where is your pack? I need ale or rum… something, anything to clean the wound,” he replied under the impression Adahy had been addressing him.

Adahy looked down at Demented Jake darkly as his tattooed visage finally fell beneath a beam of moonlight. He used one of his stump-wrists to rub his chin. “I’ve got a better idea,” he proposed. Adahy whistled to the dog and the animal trotted over to him. He grabbed the dagger between his two stumps and glanced fiendishly down at his soon-to-be victim. The blade began to glow red against his visage, its radiance illuminating Adahy’s face in a demonic manner. “Send my regards to the devil, will you?”

…

To avoid causing suspicion, Flame had to suppress his inward glee at how well the plan had worked. Through careful eavesdropping, he had not only discovered Legless to be the culprit spreading the rumors but he had even successfully nipped the first whisperings of mutiny in the bud. When the watchman discovered Rolfe’s marred black boot floating near the ship, Flame had sent a few men to the shore. They confirmed the Englishman had escaped the wildfire to the beach, leaving a trail behind when he had reentered the forest thereafter. Two minutes after the news of Rolfe’s survival reached the _Blood Draw_ , the first mate was found dead in his cabin in the exact same manner as Bleud.

Flame reacted with feigned shock and horror. He had further insisted that they could not stray from their vengeful mission lest the same dreadful fate befall the rest of the crew. This pronouncement spurred the men into action, renewing their fear of the fabled Aztec spirits. With things back under the Irishman’s control, he had signaled the hunting parties with cannon fire and led half the crew to the beach to pursue Rolfe’s tracks.

One thing bothered Flame though as he examined the prints. There was only one set of human tracks on the beach. He clearly remembered that two people had escaped from the ship—a white man and an Indian woman. Furthermore the tracks leading away from the beach had been made with two boots but Rolfe had apparently lost one of his in the surf. No one seemed to have an explanation for any of this though Flame overheard one of the crew members griping that the woman must have perished in the wildfire.

The men seemed to think the search would be nothing but a chore without a buxom lass to make it all worthwhile in the end. The crew’s floundering morale concerned Flame so he was grateful for a distraction that cropped up a few minutes later. Spike-Eyes and Manslaughter emerged through the burned woodland with one of the hounds from the hunt. The bosun was the first to catch sight of them and he whistled to Flame.

“We heard the signal, captain,” Spike-Eyes announced. “What’s happened? We’ve been following their trail for days. We almost had ‘em a ways back but that idiot Jake started a forest fire and nearly got us killed. The fool died in his own flames.”

Flame sneered at them. “Almost had ‘em, did ye? Where are the other two parties? And what about Adahy? Did you catch any sign of him? The Injun fool was supposed to prevent the fugitives from getting this far north to begin with!” he snapped angrily.

“Aye but the man failed, captain. We found his corpse along the river, we did. He bled to death after Mr. Rolfe lopped off his other hand!” Manslaughter proclaimed. “The fugitive’s armed and dangerous,” he expressed. Then he shrugged. “Either that or the Injun wretch was never as tough as he pretended to be.”

“I suspect a combination of the two,” Spike-Eyes added, suppressing a snicker.

Flame’s eyes widened in surprise and then he slapped himself on the forehead. “Never send an Injun to do a real man’s job,” he chided himself, sighing in aggravation.

Spike-Eyes and Manslaughter burst out laughing. “That’s what we was thinking when we came upon the daft dead fool. But alas, we’re concerned our quarry might’ve been lost in the fire. What should we do now, captain?” Spike-Eyes inquired.

Flame held up John Rolfe’s burned boot. “The Spaniard survived—that’s for certain. He fled the fire to the beach. We found his tracks in the sand, you see. No sign of the wench though. She might very well have perished for all we know thus far,” he explained. “Or perhaps they were merely separated. It’s hard to say.”

Manslaughter and Spike-Eyes raised their brows and then glanced at each other in confusion. “Spaniard?” both men asked in unison, perturbed.

One of the lesser men in Flame’s crew stepped forward, a highly amused look on his face. “Aye! Rolfe was a Spaniard in disguise, a spy against the English crown. Our good cap’n here found a document identifying him as such,” the man said, only to get rapped in the back of the head by said captain. “Ow!” he exclaimed, rubbing his head.

“I’m tellin’ the story, thank ye very much!” Flame snapped, browbeating the pirate into a corner with his fierce gaze. He turned back to Spike-Eyes and Manslaughter. “Aye, it be true. Rolfe’s real name is Juan Ignacio. A talented actor, is he not? Had us all convinced he was of pureblooded English ancestry. Methinks he had been trained for years as a spy in his homeland, perhaps even from childhood. We don’t know what his mission was precisely but we do know it was top-secret. Even King James wanted the information kept under wraps. We don’t know why just yet but we suspect unraveling the mystery could help bring down the whole Spanish empire. Just think of all the gold! But we’ve got to find that damned Spaniard first to torture the truth out of ‘im.”

Spike-Eyes and Manslaughter’s eyes gleamed with untapped greed. They grinned widely at the mere suggestion of such immense wealth. “Juan Ignacio, eh? Well I don’t know about you all but I’ve got to find out the full truth and nothing but the truth so help me, dog!” Spike-Eyes declared, leaning down to pat the aforementioned pooch on the head. “Can you show us to the trail this ‘Ignacio’ fellow left so Françoise can pick up the scent again? The fire destroyed the trail we were following through the forest.”

Flame pointed over to where the bosun was, still examining Rolfe’s prints. He lead the men over to the tracks and then presented Rolfe’s melted footwear to Françoise. She readily sniffed the item and then turned her attention to the surrounding environment, taking a whiff here and there. She smelled the bootprints the fugitive had left behind. At first it looked like she was not getting anywhere with smoke still heavy in the air but suddenly they all saw her cock her nose in a northwesterly direction.

“She’s got it, captain!” Spike-Eyes cried. “Good girl, Françoise! Lots of treats for you tonight, girl!” he lauded, patting the canine on her side.

Flame raised his sword to the northwest. “After him, men! Let’s put this wild goose chase to rest once and for all so we can all get our gold!” he loudly announced.

The men were about to roar in agreement but Manslaughter raised both hands to silence them before they could. “We’ve got to remain quiet. If ‘Ignacio’ knows we’re coming, he’ll run. Best to ambush him unawares! That’s why we muzzled Françoise. It was to keep the dogs from barking and alerting the quarry,” Manslaughter explained.

“Good thought,” Flame replied, clapping Manslaughter on the back. “Come on, men. Let’s get going. I want to hear nothing but whispers from the lot of you from here on out!” With that, the band of pirates began following Spike-Eyes and Françoise through the charred woodland in search of John Rolfe.

…

Rolfe awoke at the crack of dawn from a terrifying nightmare. The fleeting image of glowing red eyes in darkness flashed through his mind before he became fully awake, having little recollection of the details of the dream. He jumped to his feet, glancing around warily. No one else stirred except Percy. The pug dog cracked an eye open at the sound of Rolfe moving about. Then he raised his head and whimpered.

Rolfe looked down at him. “I get the feeling we need to get moving again,” he expressed. “Can you wake up Meeko and Flit for me?” Rolfe stretched his back out and hissed in pain at the stiffness. The long journey with a full-grown woman on his back had not been easy on him and he knew it was not over yet. He prepared himself as best he could by stretching out his aching body and doing a few jumping jacks to get the blood flowing.

Since Pocahontas was still asleep and obviously very tired, John Rolfe elected to carry her bridal style without waking her up for the first few miles. Rolfe knew intuitively that he had to give her time to heal. She would need food, water, and rest to recover her mobility. The only food they had left was coconut meat and milk and there was no water. Hence he carried her north in pursuit of life-giving sustenance.

It was not until a few miles later that the sulfurous stench in the air thickened and rapidly roused Pocahontas from her slumber. The ground beneath John Rolfe’s boots had turned to sticky, clay-like mud and made squishing and slurping sounds as he trudged through it. “I get the feeling we’re heading into a swamp,” he told her as her eyes fluttered open. She crinkled her nose. “Care to hop on my back again? My arms are getting tired.”

“Ugh, it’s sickening,” Pocahontas murmured, glancing into the bubbly yellowish water in the stream trench. Regardless of her disgust, she readily complied with Rolfe’s request. He placed her standing on a burned log with her good foot so she could jump up onto his back without getting muddy. “Well on the positive side we don’t have much food anyway,” she asserted, trying to get lighten the mood. “At least with the stink we won’t have to worry about developing appetites anytime soon.”

“This is very true,” John Rolfe replied, preferring to look on the bright side as well. He glanced upwards as the emergent sun lit up the dark blue sky through the bare trees. Dawn was coming in an orange rim around the horizon, carrying with it a heavy stagnant mist that obscured the woodland ahead. Rolfe held the compass close at hand, squinting to see the needle’s location in the dim light. They were going slightly westward so he corrected their path to ensure they kept heading straight north. The stream bed headed inland and soon enough it had disappeared into the dark skeletal forest.

The worst possibility John Rolfe could think of was what would happen if they travelled too far inland and got hopelessly lost in the vast untamed wilderness. He made it a priority to stay as close to the east coast as possible. “The map says nothing about a swampland like this. The whole area was left mostly blank. I don’t think this place has been much explored. At least not by the French or Spanish.”

“Perhaps they both decided that they did not like cold weather and preferred to keep to the south,” Pocahontas suggested with a small shrug. She rested her chin on John Rolfe’s shoulder as she glanced down at the compass in his hand.

Rolfe slogged along through the foul-smelling bog. As the terrain got slipperier and soggier, he had to exert himself more and more just to walk in a straight line. Pocahontas had to do all the work clinging to his back because he needed his hands free to grab the charred trees and keep balance. It was slow-going but there appeared to be no way around it as a shaft of light showing through the trees revealed the beach had turned to dense mangroves along the eastern shoreline. There was no sand to be seen. It was better to slog through a stinking mudland than to try to drag an injured woman through a nearly impenetrable wall of branches and aerial roots, Rolfe decided.

As they travelled onward the mud deepened and the sky lightened. They discovered that many low-lying plants had escaped the flames that had decimated the canopy. As much as Rolfe wanted to rest after an hour or so, he had to keep going because there was literally nowhere to sit down. When the muck got deep and thick enough, Rolfe heard whining behind them and had to backtrack about twenty paces to rescue Percy from the sludge.

While Flit could fly and Meeko could sling through the trees, Percy had four short legs and no way of getting through the deep muck unassisted. Pocahontas put the dirty pooch on her shoulder. Even though Percy was light compared to Pocahontas, the addition of yet another weight pained Rolfe’s already aching back and shoulders.

As the hours passed, the mudland turned to swampland. The water gradually deepened until John Rolfe was just up to his thighs. He told Pocahontas to grab hold of an overhead branch so he could boost her up onto his shoulders. She held Percy in one hand and the branch in another as they repositioned themselves.

Rolfe figured it was bad enough that he had to wade through the putrid water. He saw no point in making Pocahontas come in contact with it as well. Besides he was able to keep his back straighter in the new position which turned out to be less strenuous for him. Flies and mosquitos buzzed about, pestering the two of them to the point of near-insanity.

“John, I don’t know how much more of this I can take. They keep swarming around my eyes. I can hardly see anything,” Pocahontas told him, batting the air in front of her face repeatedly. Flit tried to help by snapping up as many mosquitos as he could but there were just too many. With a pebble-sized stomach, there was not much he could do for her.

“I know what you mean. At least we don’t have to worry about hostile tribes while we’re here. No sane man would make berth anywhere near such a place as this,” Rolfe replied as he trudged into the ever-deepening water. It was now up to his waist. “Though I admit I utterly despise bugs,” he added as yet another mosquito buzzed into and out of his ear.

Pocahontas groaned in aggravation. “I’ve got an idea. It can’t be much worse than this. Just follow my lead,” she indicated, slipping down from his back. She waded into the warm swamp water and lowered herself to chest-level. Percy whimpered nervously and climbed up onto her shoulder to keep out of the nasty water.

“Be careful, Pocahontas! I don’t want you to hurt your ankle,” John Rolfe insisted, observing her. Their olfactory senses had long since grown immune to the stench but it still surprised Rolfe when she handed Percy to him and dove beneath the surface. She came up with two handfuls of muck from the bottom and slopped it all over her head and shoulders, covering every patch of exposed skin.

“It makes it harder for them to bite us,” Pocahontas explained. John Rolfe scrunched his face up at what she was asking him to do. Being covered in reeking mud head to toe was not his idea of a good time but he did see her point. He was being eaten alive and he knew it. He was about to hand Percy back to her when the pug dog abruptly jumped out of his arms and into the water. The canine had figured out he was not going to be able to avoid the water forever so he decided to take the plunge himself rather than have someone else force it upon him. Rolfe shrugged and hung his pack on a low-lying branch, reluctantly sliding down into the swamp water. Like Pocahontas, he emerged with a pile of mud. He could not help grimacing at it before he started slapping it all over his head, face, neck, and shoulders. To his surprise, he found that the smooth coolness of the mud soothed the itching bug bites all over his flesh.

Pocahontas took the survival pack from the limb and tied it tightly to the top of her head with the straps, effectively keeping it out of the water. Meeko waddled over on the same tree limb and gently dropped the turtle shell down onto Rolfe’s muddied head, squeaking in laughter. Rolfe glanced at him in annoyance but Pocahontas hardly took notice. Like a slow-moving otter, she paddled through the swamp with Percy and Flit in quick pursuit. Though he was not too skilled at crawling through mud, the pug was an adept swimmer.

When Rolfe realized he was falling behind, he dove to catch up with his companions. They swam through a maze of trees that seemed to stretch on forever. Meeko had to enter the water eventually when the trees and branches became too sparse to travel by hopping from limb to limb. The muckland had opened up into a wide swamp and although the water seemed putrid to them, more and more animals had begun to appear. From colorful dragonflies to tiny water turtles to large wading birds, the smelly slough was full of life.

The only thing Rolfe worried about now was that they might come upon a large, toothy, reptilian predator and he was thankful he had seen none thus far. Pocahontas’s mud idea worked like a charm. Something about the cool muck acted as a type of camouflage against the pests. There were still plenty of flies and mosquitos buzzing about the swamp but they were no longer swarming exclusively around the two hot-blooded humans.

 _“Keep an eye out for those monsters, Pocahontas,”_ Rolfe whispered. _“If worse comes to worse, we’ve still got the pistol in the pack on your head. We can use it if we must.”_

Pocahontas glanced back at him nonchalantly and kept swimming. “Whatever that skeleton was it did not belong to a monster, John. It was just a big animal, not an evil demon. I’m sure it hunted for its food but so do my people. That doesn’t make us monsters, does it?” she countered, giggling as she paddled along ahead of him.

“It does to whatever you’re hunting!” Rolfe teasingly shot back. “I consider anything big enough to eat me a monster, thank you very much. And there’s nothing you can do about it, madame.” In response to his indignant tone, Pocahontas giggled and splashed him. “Hey!” he protested. “No splashing with smelly swamp water. That’s just nasty!”

Pocahontas shrugged. “You’re already covered in it.” She suddenly sped up her pace, paddling through the swamp like a graceful duckling. Percy and Meeko had no problem keeping up with her and they swam along on each side of her.

“Careful, love! There could be rocks. You don’t want to risk hitting your bad ankle on one, now do you?” Rolfe advised, paddling as fast as he could to keep up with them. Cypresses and other swamp trees towered overhead. Only their uppermost foliage had been grazed by the wildfire. The area as a whole was just too wet to burn to the ground, unlike the hammocks and flatlands. Pocahontas, Meeko, Percy, and Rolfe swam around massive tree trunks and ducked under branches as they continued northward.

A while later John Rolfe caught sight of something to Pocahontas’s far left. She seemed not to notice so he silently waded over to it. Pocahontas gasped when she heard a loud splash behind her. She, Meeko, Percy, and even Flit stopped swimming and snapped their heads back to see what had caused the commotion. Rolfe burst through the surface of the sludgy green water with a wide grin on his muddied face. Pocahontas raised an eyebrow. “John, you scared me! What is it?” she inquired, pivoting around fully to face him.

In response to her question, John Rolfe pulled a fat bullfrog out of the water. “I caught something! We’ve finally got meat again! Now all we’ve got to do is get out of this swamp and find a place to cook it!” he proudly announced.

Pocahontas curled her lip and felt her stomach churn at the suggestion. “You want me to eat swamp frog?” she asked hesitantly.

John Rolfe’s face fell when he heard the tone in her voice, having thought she would be proud of him. The disinterested creature inflated its throat sac and Rolfe frowned at it. “B-but the French consider it a delicacy! They’re supposed to taste like a cross between a chicken and a fish!” he whined in disappointment. “The legs are the best part…”

Pocahontas frowned too when she realized she had unintentionally insulted him. She swam over to Rolfe and took the frog from him, holding it up out of the water to get a good look at it. She had to admit it did have pretty fat legs though she dared not venture to guess what chicken-fish tasted like. While she did not find the idea of eating frog particularly appetizing, she had to admit the creature was impressive in size. Not as big as the turtle she had caught but big enough to sustain them for a while longer for sure. If she could stomach it. “Well it is pretty big. Good job, John!” she said, grinning at him.

Rolfe was about to smile back at her but a disturbing thought suddenly occurred to him. “You’re not, um… going to kill it right now, are you?” he hesitantly inquired, poking his fingers together anxiously. Witnessing the event was not an appealing thought.

Pocahontas shook her head and he sighed in relief. “No, I wouldn’t want the swamp water to contaminate the meat. Hold it until we get to dry land,” she said, handing the amphibian back to him. He nodded as Pocahontas lowered herself back into the water chin-deep, swimming away. Rolfe quickly followed, holding the frog’s head above the water to prevent it from drowning as he paddled along with his feet.

…

When Françoise sniffed the putrid water in the depleted stream bed, she whimpered loudly and backed away. In the back of the group, some of the men were getting irritable. “This place reeks like Dirty Dave’s socks!” Buckshot bellyached aloud. The mentioned individual clapped him sharply on the back of the head for the haphazard insult. “Watch it!” Buckshot snapped, rubbing his head as he brandished his sword.

Ignoring the nitwits, the bosun walked up behind Flame who was out ahead of the group. “The tracks lead into the swamp. It’s hard to imagine anyone would be desperate enough to go in there unless they somehow realized we’re still following them. How could they know? We’ve been keeping the men and the hound silent all night,” he told the captain.

“The Spaniard is afeared of us, bosun. He knows his neck is on the line and won’t take any chances of us catching up to him,” Flame countered. Suddenly an ominous grin lit up his gnarled face. “But of course he’s underestimated us. We’ll head him off.” He turned to the twenty-eight pirates that he had brought to shore and picked ten out of the group. “You men are to stay here and spread out along the edge of the swamp so Ignacio cannot backtrack on us. The rest of you follow me back to the ship. We’ll head him off northward past the swampland. The fool will have nowhere to go. He’ll have to face us eventually or die mired in the bog’s pestilence. Onward!”

They left the ten men armed along the south edge of the swamp and returned to the ship. It was not until they had gotten back to the _Blood Draw_ that Spike-Eyes and Manslaughter learned of the untimely deaths. Spike-Eyes in particular found it hard to believe that Captain Bleud had already met his demise but he was delighted when Flame appointed him as the new first mate of the ship.

As the _Blood Draw_ sailed northward, the spindly man keeping watch noted that the swamplands seemed to stretch on and on for many miles. Spike-Eyes stood with the watchman near the helm as they chitchatted about the scant possibility of ‘Ignacio’ even making it out alive. Françoise the French hound obediently sat at Spike-Eyes’s heel as she seemed to consider the large man her master above all the others.

Despite the weak winds, the current along the shoreline carried them at a swift pace past the seemingly endless miles of swampland. When the mangroves at last gave way to white sand beaches, the captain announced their arrival. The ship was anchored in a small bay and most of the crew disembarked. Flame, the bosun, Spike-Eyes, and Françoise were on the first boat to shore. The crew’s first initiative was to check along the north edge of the swamp to ensure the fugitives had not outpaced them. The hound’s skillful nose confirmed that John Rolfe had yet to arrive in the area. With that, the men set up multiple points of ambush along the perimeter and they laid in wait with the hope that their hapless quarry would fall right into their trap.


	8. Captain John Rolfe

****Manslaughter got bored staring into the swamp so he stood up and walked over to Tongueless Tom’s post. Without Spike-Eyes, Flame, or Legless to keep an eye on him, Manslaughter had a bad habit of shirking his duties in favor of more enjoyable pursuits. He liked Tongueless Tom in particular because the man was mute. Manslaughter preferred to do all the talking primarily because he liked to talk exclusively about his favorite subject—himself. Short of putting a bullet through Manslaughter’s skull, there was little Tongueless Tom or anyone else could do to shut him up once he got started.

When Tongueless Tom saw Manslaughter approach, he tried to signal the idiot to return to his own post. Naturally Manslaughter pretended he did not understand and immediately plopped down on a charred log to recount the story of how he had slain with his bare hands an African crocodile that had made the mistake of swallowing a valuable diamond. Tom rolled his grey eyes and turned away.

Taking no notice of Tom’s inattentiveness, Manslaughter continued, “And after that escapade the crew at the time set sail to the southernmost land of the New World. It was during the voyage there that we stopped at Tortuga to pick up more crew members, yourself amongst them if you recall. You’re a lucky man, Tommy. I’m surprised the cap’n let you join with all your shortcomin’s. Consider it good fortune on your part that you were asked to mind the ship when we arrived on the jungled shores.”

Tongueless Tom clenched his teeth, tempted to give Manslaughter a good blow across the temple. “As ye know,” Manslaughter said, “we had hoped to find a sliver of gold left by the Spaniards but when we got there we realized they had combed the land so completely. We came upon burnt village after burnt village to find nothing but skeletal remains of the savage occupants but not one speck nor glimmer of riches.”

Manslaughter shook his head, recalling the disappointment. “Journeying deep into the jungle, we had the good luck to stumble upon one survivor—a terrified and scantily clad maiden. We tortured the wench for information though we gleaned nothing at first. When we raised our swords to end her, the lass’s eyes turned black as coal as if she was possessed. She spoke in an otherworldly tongue through which a phrase or so in English could be heard: ‘Kill the Spanish… slaughter me and you will be cursed for eternity’.”

Tongueless Tom suddenly perked up and turned to look at Manslaughter. “Aye, I thought that’d grab your attention,” Manslaughter gloated. “Only Bleud, Spike-Eyes and I were there at the time and I was told never to tell. I’m doing you a favor confidin’ in you, mate. So I expect you to keep me secret in return,” he said with a hushing finger over his mouth. Tom blinked in surprise. Manslaughter held the pose for an extended moment and grinned, bursting into laughter at the notion of a man without a tongue trying to ‘out’ him. “I’m just foolin’, mate,” Manslaughter murmured, still guffawing loudly.

Manslaughter calmed down after a few extended moments. “Well we was all rather startled to say the least. When the girl returned to normal, she immediately told us of a secret Spanish camp deep in the jungle—said the gods had just revealed it to her to stop her torment. She led us there. It turned out to be an Aztec mine that had been taken over by the Spanish. We slaughtered the miners and took the remaining gold for ourselves,” he explained, grinning greedily at the memory.

“When we turned back to the girl to thank her and offer her clemency for her life, she had vanished from the bonds adhering her to a tree trunk. There was no sign of tampering and no footprints leading away. It was the most bizarre thing, I tell ye. Bleud suspected she had somehow slipped out of the shackles and climbed up the tree so we sent the cabin boy up to confirm this suspicion. The lad disappeared into the foliage and a few moments later, we heard a muffled scream. From a struggle up above, some of the branches broke away and we saw him—the lad was belly-deep headfirst down the gullet of the biggest snake these eyes ever did see!” Manslaughter construed. He noted how Tom’s eyes widened at the tale. Then the man shook his head in disbelief.

“Don’t believe me? I swear it to be true!” Manslaughter cried. He pointed to his eyes with two fingers. “These very peepers beheld it. We laid into the monster lizard with a slew of bullets yet it continued to devour the lad even as we turned the creature’s belly into Swiss cheese. Finally, when the boy’s feet disappeared into its mouth, the snake fell dead from the treetops. We immediately cut the beast open and pulled the child out but the boy was dead from crushed bones and suffocation. A pity—the lad was not but nine or ten. Such a tender age to meet such a fate but now you know the mystery behind the last cabin boy’s disappearance. I don’t know why Bleud and Flame insisted on keeping it a secret from the crew but they did and I trust you not to tell.”

Once Manslaughter had finished his tale, he slid to the ground with his back against a log and pulled out a bottle of French rum. He took a large swig and offered some to Tongueless Tom but the other pirate refused. Manslaughter shrugged and began to chug the delightful beverage. He was halfway through the bottle when a howl sounded in the distance, startling them both. Manslaughter dropped his rum.

Tongueless Tom readied his rifle as Manslaughter snatched up the bottle and jumped to his feet. “HELLO?” he called out into the wilderness. They stared southward for a few extended moments. When they were met with nothing but silence, Manslaughter shrugged and sat back down. “Darn. I was hoping one of the other hunting parties had made it back. Guess no one’s coming to relieve us,” he said, burping loudly. He glanced over his shoulder again. “Probably just a coyote.”

…

Dusk was on the horizon when Pocahontas, Rolfe, Meeko, Percy, and Flit came upon a small mushy island. It was the best they could find as neither wished to be in the water after dark. The first thing they did was to pick off the leeches that had latched onto them during the day. Fortunately there were not many. The mosquitos began to pester them again until Pocahontas used the turtle shell to gather mud from the swamp waters. They laid it on thick over every inch of exposed skin. Rolfe was not particularly enthusiastic about the prospect of sleeping in mud but he really had no choice in the matter.

The small boggy island was covered in tall grasses and a few cypress saplings. Rolfe started a small fire with the available material. The fuel lasted long enough to cook the frog meat. They used the turtle shell like a pan to cook the frog’s legs and Rolfe opened the last two coconuts to rehydrate everyone as much as possible. There was the prospect of boiling swamp water in the turtle shell but they all agreed on that as a last resort.

Pocahontas and John Rolfe filled a small ditch with mud and went to sleep inside. Despite the disgusting conditions they were forced to endure, Rolfe was amazed at how much better his body felt not having to carry Pocahontas all day. It was a crucial break, giving his wearied bones and muscles time to recover from the hard journey. Pocahontas was surprised at the fact that Rolfe’s bullfrog actually tasted pretty decent. She had hoped to avoid eating it at first in favor of coconut meat but as the day wore on she found herself growing hungrier and hungrier. By dusk even the dragonflies were starting to look appetizing. There were no leftovers this time, not even a scrap of coconut meat.

Pocahontas fretted that they were now out of food entirely but Rolfe promised her that they would find more in the morning. She was so exhausted that she just went to sleep after that. Her final words were “…can’t wait to get out of this swamp…” as she dozed off. Rolfe nodded his agreement as Meeko and Percy curled up with them in the mud. Flit perched on an overhanging twig from a cypress sapling and fell fast asleep.

…

Adahy caught up with the pirates an hour before dawn. He observed the watchmen from the bushes, creeping quietly from post to post to count them all. He tallied ten in total, most of whom were alone for several hundred paces. Adahy observed that they were waiting outside of a foul-smelling swamp. He could only gather that the fugitives had fled therein. _“Bleud and Flame must have some plan to close in on them. But they won’t catch them before we do, rest assured,”_ he whispered to the dog whom he had named Kelele. It was short for Kelelemon Penqtil, meaning ‘Drooling Warrior.’ Kelele growled in a low tone as they observed Manslaughter talking the ear off a much quieter individual. _“Stay,”_ Adahy instructed. He snuck through the brush toward Tongueless Tom.

It was to Adahy's fortune that Manslaughter was not even looking at his friend. Rather the drunken fool was busy making a bad carving of a shapely nude female figure. “Rather annoying that Flame won’t let us touch the other gals until we catch that stupid Spaniard. Boy is Ignacio going to suffer when I get me hands on ‘im,” Manslaughter bemoaned.

Adahy raised an eyebrow. Spaniard? Ignacio? He had no idea what the idiot was talking about. Adahy performed the jugular hitch maneuver on Tongueless Tom using only his forearms—an ancient Copichican technique. It rendered the mute pirate unconscious in an instant. Adahy caught him in his arms before he could fall. He laid the unconscious body down quietly and did the same to the overly talkative and drunken Manslaughter. One by one, he knocked out all ten of the watchmen. The harder part was tying them up. He decided against it entirely. Instead he used the demon blade to cut every man’s arms and legs off to render them helpless. The heat from the dagger cauterized the wounds in an instant, preventing the mutilated buccaneers from bleeding out. Once Adahy had finished, he laid the limbless men in a row side-by-side.

Kelele growled as one of the pirates began to rouse. The dragonfly blackstone dagger began to glow. Tongueless Tom was the first to awaken in monstrous pain. The fearsome sight of a supposed dead man stood over him, the man’s hellish grin illuminated by the unnatural red light emanating from the blade. Tom screamed at the top of his lungs.

…

The wind wafted northward as Spike-Eyes came up behind Flame. The captain stared out into the dark swamp forest with the French hound Françoise beside him. The dog seemed to find the scents emanating from the swamp to be fascinating. She occasionally made to run inside the dank place but she obediently sat down again whenever Flame ordered her to stay. Still she was whimpering slightly in frustration.

The first rim of twilight played on the eastern horizon as Flame began to feel irritated again. He gritted his teeth as he stared into the black swamp. “Gods be cursed, where is he?” he growled under his breath, growing impatient.

Spike-Eyes stepped beside him. “He might have perished, sir. I know you didn’t want to send any of the men into the pestilent land but if we send one of the toughest, Françoise might be able to help us determine if Ignacio is still alive or not. Then they could turn right around and come back with the Spaniard, dead or alive.”

“He’s alive, I know he’s alive. The fop is trying to trick us again like he did with the woman. Hiding in the swamp until we think him dead. But we’ll not be so easily fooled.”

Spike-Eyes scratched his head and swatted something off of his shoulder. “Seems like an awfully desperate move, captain. He must be getting eaten up by mosquitoes in there.”

“It’s desperate, alright. But it’s also clever. After everything that’s happened I’m starting to think there’s more to this Rol… I mean this _Ignacio_ character than we all realize. He’s a real conniving bastard, he is. Remember the first day he joined the crew? Seemed like a real weakling, barely able to lift a rum barrel. It was all a façade. If he was really so pathetic, he would never have made it off the ship—and with a lass no less. Even if the wench perished in the fire, Ignacio’s feats have been impressive. Methinks he could be some type of mercenary perhaps but I can’t be sure. We’ve got to find him and interrogate the wretch!” Flame insisted, balling his fists. The possibility that they might never catch Rolfe was infuriating. “The things I’m gonna do to that poor bastard…”

“Aye, let’s send someone in to find him then,” Spike-Eyes replied.

Flame fell silent, glancing left toward the light blue glow on the horizon. “Very well. Pick the toughest man you can find and prepare him provisions and something to help him ward off the mosquitoes. A torch, perhaps?” he suggested.

“Aye, sir. I propose we send in the bosun. I’ll admit he’s a former savage like Adahy but surely he knows how to stalk prey without making too much noise. Unlike Adahy he knows how to avoid serious injury and he’s skilled with the sword—much more so than the Injun ever was. Surely he can be a match for the Spaniard’s fencing prowess. And he was born of jungled land even denser and wilder than that swamp. I think he’s the best candidate for the job for sure,” Spike-Eyes indicated. In the back of his mind, he knew this kind of mission could be a way to get on the Affrikaan’s good side. Like all men Spike-Eyes distrusted, he preferred to keep close to them and kindle false friendships to protect his own neck. At least it had always worked in the past.

Flame considered the proposition. He had to admit he did not trust the bosun much. The man had always had a superior relationship with Bleud for reasons beyond the current captain’s understanding. If not for the bosun’s quiet antisocial nature, it was entirely possible that Bleud might have selected him for the role of quartermaster instead. Of course the bosun had never shown an interest in leadership so Flame did not see him as a threat. Still the bosun’s nature was too dark and brooding for comfort. The one thing that convinced Flame to send the bosun in however was the Affrikaan’s obvious distaste for one, John Rolfe. Flame gave in and agreed. “Aye, send the bosun.”

Spike-Eyes gave a nod and went to find the swarthy one. The bosun was surprised to learn that Flame wanted to send him after the fugitive. Most of his duties were limited to bearing the cat and serving as a brawny guard. Captain Flame had never sent him on a real mission before. Mission work usually required some small amount of trust and the bosun knew how little Flame trusted him. The feeling was quite mutual. Regardless the bosun nodded his agreement and prepared for his excursion into the dank forested land.

…

Pocahontas woke with fright, sitting up in her warm if not mushy bed of mud beside John Rolfe. She thought that she had heard something in a dream but as soon as her mind cleared the world fell silent. She glanced around the grim bog laden with grasses, bushes, and marsh trees of all kinds. It was still dark but she thought she detected the faintest glow of twilight through the trees. All appeared well but there was an unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach that she could not quite place.

John Rolfe and Percy were fast asleep but Flit and Meeko had awoken along with her. They were both now staring southward with blank looks on their faces. Then she finally realized what was wrong—the silence. It was unnatural. There were no crickets chirping nor frogs croaking in the deep dark swamp that had hummed with life earlier. Pocahontas widened her eyes in fear as a flock of panicked birds burst through he trees. They rushed by over her head in such a frenzy that Rolfe and Percy shot up, gasping.

A bellow sounded in the distance that could only be described as bloodcurdling. Deep and harrowing, Pocahontas could not identify the source be it man, animal, or spirit.

Rolfe heaved in fear, stumbling to his feet. He regained his balance and glanced southward to the source of the anguished cry. “Wh… what is that?!” he exclaimed.

“You hear it too?” Pocahontas inquired. The sound emanated from faraway. Rolfe’s awareness of it indicated it haled from an earthly source rather than just a spiritual one.

The cry sharpened, sounding more human than before. Rolfe shot a glance back at Pocahontas. “What do you mean asking me that?! How could anyone not hear that? God in Heaven, it sounds like someone is being burned alive… or crucified and then burned!” he cried. He barreled out of the pit and stalked around the small island, the dark mud obscuring his otherwise pale form. Pacing back and forth as the anguish rang out over miles, he added, “It must be a hostile tribe at war. What else could it be? Maybe they found the pirates… or the pirates found them. We’ve got to get further away from here!”

“John!” Pocahontas snapped. When he looked at her she put a finger to her lips, indicating for him to be quiet. He fell silent and the screaming stopped though the echo continued to carry over the canopy. After a brief pause, Pocahontas spoke up, “Listen to the world around us. The animals have fallen silent. I fear this is more than just a hostile encounter between human enemies. Remember what happened before the fire?” John Rolfe blinked at her. Suddenly another panicked group of birds rushed by, one nearly colliding with the Englishman’s head. Rolfe was forced to duck to avoid the blow. “The animals are fleeing north. We must follow!” Pocahontas decreed.

Pocahontas heard a gasp escape John Rolfe’s lips and saw his eyes widened in recollection. “You don’t… you can’t mean…” he murmured.

Pocahontas bit her lip and reluctantly nodded. “We need to get out of here!” She struggled to stand up, hardly remembering her injury until it made itself known with intense pain. She cried out and grabbed her ankle.

Percy, Meeko, and Flit were in a panic but surprisingly Rolfe got a hold of his own wits. Despite how slippery Pocahontas was while covered in mud, he picked her up firmly and carried her to the water’s edge before lowering her gently into the water. He placed the turtle shell on her head, tying the survival pack to his own as she had done earlier to keep it out of the water. Rolfe shooed the animals into the dark water although Meeko was scared stiff. “Come along, everybody! Hop to it! If we leave in an orderly fashion, we might just get out of this with our eternal souls intact,” he expressed, clapping his hands to get their attention. Pocahontas was already swimming north. He tossed Meeko in after the others and then followed. Rolfe was surprised to glance Percy way out ahead of the group. Those stubby legs of his could really swim if his life was at stake.

John Rolfe felt things rush by him under the water. Fortunately it appeared all of the predatory beasts were too busy fleeing the demonic threat to bother with hunting. Though it was too dark to see clearly, the Englishman feared a fast moving log was actually alive when its pair of beady eyes peeked up at him across the water. Whatever it was had little interest in them as it quickly sped past them about twenty paces to their right, heading north like everything else in the terrorized swamp.

Rolfe shook the fleeting feeling of terror off as he launched himself into a front crawl to catch up with the rest of his party. Even without the full use of one of her legs, Pocahontas could swim quite fast. As they swam along, another even more horrifying howl erupted in the distance thus spurring them on faster. It was a different victim this time. They could tell that much at least though they tried not to think about it.

…

The bosun halted when he heard faint screams in the distance. The light of dawn was brimming on the horizon but he did not fail to sense the demonic presence from afar. The main clues were the fleeing swamp animals that erupted from the brush. The bosun stopped mid-calf deep in mud. Françoise stilled beside him, whimpering lightly. She seemed to sense a threat but of what severity she could not tell.

The bosun had fought a demon before but it had been many years since and he had not been victorious. Neither had he been defeated for a powerful shaman had intervened before the then twelve-year-old Affrikaan prince could be harmed. While the man had taken him as apprentice and he had learned much in the ways of demonology, at present the bosun did not have the talismans he would need to fight off such a powerful supernatural being. He did have something though, a type of spirit camouflage to make himself invisible to the demon in the event of their meeting.

He could not very well return to the crew and tell them to flee. The spirit-blind would deem him a coward and he could be executed. Camouflage was his only option so he pulled out the bracelet from his belt sack and put it on. Made of fine Affrikaan beads, he pressed it into his flesh until the tiny needles bore into his skin. One by one, the beads illuminated red as his royal blood spread through the trinket. It was the only possession from before his slavery that he had managed to retain and he was grateful for it.

As the camouflage went into effect, barely visible beams of spirit-light emanated from his body about twenty feet in every direction—a protective forcefield. Françoise instantly calmed down and the fish rushing north in the water began to cluster around him, feeling much safer within the spiritual protection of the field.

The bosun began slogging along again. He frowned as the mosquitos began to cluster as well, waving his torch around to keep them from biting. _If only the bracelet had the same effect on mosquitos as it does on demons,_ he thought in annoyance. Fortunately as a native jungle-dweller he was well adapted to mosquito bites. They served as nothing more than buzzing annoyances, as the bites neither swelled nor itched on his skin.

Françoise whimpered as the insects swarmed around her eyes. The bosun shooed them with the torch. The dog sniffed the air and cocked her nose in a slight southwesterly direction. The bosun whistled to her, allowing her to go on ahead and lead the way.

…

Flit zipped miles ahead of the group to ensure they would not come upon insurmountable obstacles. With the daylight emerging, he flew up above the trees and peered north to see if he could spot the end of the swampland. To his aggravation, the cypress and swamp tree growth seemed to stretch on and on into the thickening mist over the horizon. It was impossible to see over the full distance. The tiny hummingbird sighed in aggravation and flew onward to discover what lay beyond the mist.

Fortunately for him the sun began to evaporate the mists as it rose. At last Flit caught sight of the end of the tree line in the far distance. A grassy meadow and hammock forest lay beyond but that was not all. As he gazed northeast toward the coast, something disturbingly familiar began to emerge from the dissipating mist—strange clouds.

Flit squeaked in horror as realization dawned upon him. He recognized the tattered sails of the _Blood Draw_ and suddenly heard a noise from the swamp directly below him. It sounded like one of Percy’s yips at first but lower in pitch. Angry low ranting followed soon after though Flit could not make out the exact words. The hummingbird’s eyes widened in horror and he shot down past the canopy, hiding behind a large leaf as he peered down into the swampy water for the source of the noise.

“Stupid dog!” the gruff-voiced bosun complained, waving his hand in a beckoning gesture. “We are not hunting for meat. Leave the rodent,” he ordered.

Françoise whined but obeyed, wading over to the human. A terrified swamp mouse that had been trapped in a tree hole emerged and fled up the trunk to the canopy, brushing past Flit as it climbed. Flit glanced after it and raised an eyebrow but then looked down again.

“Good,” the bosun said, tossing her a piece of jerky as a reward. She gratefully accepted and went straight back to work, sniffing along through the swamp. Flit had no doubts about what they were searching for. Given the bosun’s size and apparent strength, the hummingbird worried about him finding Pocahontas and the others.

The ship’s presence led Flit to wonder where the other pirates were. He saw the bosun lift something to the dog’s face that was immediately familiar. He recognized it as Rolfe’s ruined boot, the same one he had left on the beach after the fire. The dog sniffed it, renewing her senses. She then cocked her nose in the direction of Pocahontas and Rolfe.

Flit squeaked in fear for his friends. Fortunately the pirate was miles from them yet. Flit knew he had to gather more information before going back to his friends to warn them of the danger. Perhaps he could come up with an alternative route for them to get around the fiends. He buzzed on ahead past the end of the swampland.

A gunshot went off and Flit felt something graze his tail feathers. He squeaked in terror and glanced straight downwards. There were two pirates bickering on the ground. “You bloody moron!” Spike-Eyes raged, slapping another pirate across the face. The man fell to the ground, dropping his weapon. “What are you firing off bullets for? We aren’t supposed to be making noise!” he snapped, threatening the individual with his large fist.

“Sorry, sir! It was an accident, I swear!” his victim replied, trying to shield his face.

Flit buzzed along the outskirts of the swamp and discovered many of the pirates on duty at different posts. Spirits only knew how many were searching in the swampland itself. Flit wondered if he could do something to throw them off the trail. He could think of only one thing to slow them down at all. He turned tail and flew back to where he had seen the bosun. The man and dog were moving pretty quickly despite the deepening mud. The bosun was like a bear. Nothing could stop him from getting to his honey prize, especially not a field of sticky mud or a swarm of pesky insects. Flit needed something much more compelling to dissuade the big guy from continuing the hunt.

Flit immediately steeled himself and flew forward at high speed. The hummingbird crossed the swamp in fractions of a second and buried his needle-like beak deep into the bosun’s right eye socket. The man let loose an enraged howl and the dog immediately started barking at the top of her lungs in startlement.

Forcing the pirate to make noise to warn his friends was not enough, Flit knew. There were now human enemies to the north and spirit enemies the south closing in on them. The hummingbird had to go back to show Pocahontas and Rolfe a way around. He knew it would be a long shot for all of them but they had to try. It was their only chance.

Flit barely managed to yank his beak out before a massive hand came to slap him away. The giant fell to his knees in the deep mud, holding his injured eye as he howled loudly. With his free hand, the bosun grabbed his machete and began brandishing it wildly in an attempt to kill whatever had attacked him. Flit dodged the swipes and flew out of range.

Now free, Flit turned tail and headed directly south as fast as he could fly to find his friends before someone else found them and tried to hurt them.

…

John Rolfe immediately stopped swimming when he heard the scream and subsequent barking up ahead. It was not a good sign, especially with the demon still on their trail. “Pocahontas, stop!” Rolfe cried out.

Pocahontas heard him and stilled in the water. The sound of the barking dog became clear when she put a hand to her ear. “What is that? It’s coming from up ahead!” she exclaimed. She spun around and swam back to John Rolfe, holding onto him fearfully.

“The pirates…” Rolfe indicated. “I thought I’d heard a gunshot but I was not sure. It must be them!” he said, sheltering her in a strong hug. He could not let them get a hold of her.

Meeko and Percy stopped swimming and turned to face Pocahontas and John Rolfe as they treaded water in place. “John, what are we going to do? If the demon is south and the pirates are north… we’re surrounded!” Pocahontas whimpered.

“I’m not sure just yet, love. We need Flit!” John Rolfe expressed, his eyes widening. “Where did he go?” he inquired, glancing all around. They were all immediately relieved when the aforementioned hummingbird frantically burst through the brush up ahead. “Flit!” Rolfe cheered. “It’s the pirates, isn’t it? We heard them!” Flit nodded. He buzzed around them in circles and headed east toward the ocean, beckoning them. “There? But isn’t that where their ships must be?” Rolfe countered.

Pocahontas immediately followed. “Just do as he says, John. He’s seen things that we haven’t,” she replied, launching herself into a swim after the tiny bird.

Rolfe hesitated but then followed as did Meeko and Percy. It was about two miles before they reached the denser mangroves that marked the boundary between the swamp and the open sea. With Pocahontas’s injury, Rolfe saw no choice but to use her machete to forge a path through the mangroves. The downside was that it would leave a trail.

Pocahontas did not protest as she saw no alternative. Rolfe chopped a path through the dense subtropical shrubbery with fervor. It seemed to be a mile thick though in reality it was not much more than fifteen to twenty feet across. Rolfe labored his way through as Pocahontas waited on a thick branch, her feet swirling in the water below.

When John Rolfe was done he returned and propped Pocahontas up on his back, carrying her through the mushy ground as he used mangled mangrove limbs for support. The sea emerged in shallow waves that gently lapped the edge of the mangrove slope. Rolfe stepped down to discover the saltwater was quite shallow. If not for the tide, there might have even been a small beach for all he knew.

With Pocahontas on his back, John Rolfe waded deeper into the saltwater. “Finally we can wash this mud off. The current seems to be flowing north. No wonder they were able to catch up to us.” He sat Pocahontas down in the shallow waves and hung their belongings on outstretched mangrove limbs. Sitting down next to her, he began to wash the mud off his body and clothes as much as possible without disrobing. Pocahontas copied what he was doing, hardly even noticing when he got up and started tearing away mangrove limbs to make a raft. He cut and chopped with the machete as he went.

It was not until Pocahontas was done rinsing the mud off that she even realized what John Rolfe was doing. “John?” she murmured, trying to get his attention.

“I’m hoping we can sneak past the ship while their attentions are focused on finding us in the swamp,” John Rolfe expressed. “So I thought I’d build a small raft. We can travel north more quickly with the strong current.” Gazing northward was no help as the curving coastline obscured any view of the sea ahead. They could only see directly east and the sun was excessively bright as it rose over the horizon.

Pocahontas scooted over to John Rolfe to help prevent the pieces from floating away from each other as the Englishman lashed them together with anything he could find—twine, clothing scraps from the survival pack, vines, etc.

It took about an hour but together Pocahontas and Rolfe were able to building a canoe-like raft about twelve feet in length. Because the bottom was not solid wood it would not keep them completely dry but that was not the goal. Rolfe created two paddles out of branches with diverging limbs at the ends.

Sitting on the front end of the raft with her leg propped up, Pocahontas snatched one of the paddles from Rolfe. He looked at her in surprise and sat down in the water. Meeko helped Percy climb up into the center of the raft between the two paddlers. They put the supply pack, turtle shell, and machete in the center as well.

Just as they were about to set off, a dog-like howl sounded much closer than before. It was far too close for comfort. John Rolfe gasped and shot up from his seating on the raft. He grabbed the tail end of the canoe and pushed it off as fast as he could into the deepening water, fighting against the splashy ocean waves.

Rolfe’s primary concern was that the pirates had guns. He and Pocahontas would be sitting ducks on the open water. The farther away they got, the better. “John, I think you can get in now,” Pocahontas said. The water was deep enough that Rolfe’s feet no longer touched the ground. He was kicking along, using the strength of his legs as propellers.

“Paddle, Pocahontas! They’re too close. Once we are out of sight around that bend in the coastline up ahead, then I think we can relax a bit,” Rolfe countered, kicking with all his might. He was grateful as they entered the north current, pushing them at a faster pace.

Flit remained perched on a tree branch on the shore, keeping guard as the others fled. If only it had not taken so long to build the raft, they would have been well ahead of the bosun. The dog had gone quiet which worried the small hummingbird. Suddenly he heard a twig crack a good distance away and flew off the branch back into the forest to check it out. His worst fears were confirmed when he saw the bosun, now wearing an eye patch, tearing his way through the dense brush and thick mud in pursuit of the hound. Françoise was hot on the refugees’ trail. She had almost reached the mangroves at the shore.

Thinking fast, Flit zipped down in front of the dog and started buzzing around her head in circles to drive her bonkers. The dog growled and began snapping at the air in an attempt to ward off the flying pest. To Flit’s disappointment, the bosun hardly took notice of them. He rushed right past. Flit squeaked when he saw the large man catch sight of the butchered mangrove path. The dog managed to snap off one of Flit’s tail feathers while the hummingbird was distracted, evoking a loud squeak.

…

Back on the raft, John Rolfe yelped when he felt something smooth unexpectedly brush his leg. Pocahontas glanced back in surprise as he scrambled up onto the raft and out of the water. “What’s the matter, John?” she inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“There was something in the water!” Rolfe cried, shuffling frantically through the survival pack. He whipped out the pistol and pointed it shakily into the dark saltwater.

“It could just be a friendly sea creature, John,” Pocahontas pointed out, almost tempted to roll her eyes in response to his paranoia. “There’s no need to panic.”

Rolfe glanced at her, frowning. She smiled back at him. He shrugged, put the gun down, and grabbed a paddle, propelling them onward through the water with all his strength.

A booming sound erupted from behind them and John Rolfe felt something zip by his left ear, giving him a start. He yelped in surprise and threw a glance back over his shoulder. The Affrikaan stood on the shore, aiming a rifle directly at them.

The bosun was normally a deadly shot but fortunately his eye injury interfered with his aim. “Get down!” John Rolfe cried, grabbing Pocahontas from behind. He pulled her down flat against the raft, laying his own body protectively over hers.

As Rolfe covered his head, they heard the pirate’s voice over the breeze. “That was a warning shot, Ivory Man! I’ll hold fire if you swim back to shore and give yourselves up!” he shouted at them over the slowly widening distance, reloading his gun.

“We can’t! The current’s too strong!” John Rolfe lied. The bosun gritted his teeth and took aim again. It was difficult with only one eye but he was determined to injure the white man and thus force him to flee the open water for fear of sharks.

Just as the bosun locked onto his target however, something largish and quite annoying began buzzing around his face like before. “What the…?” he cried, waving his hand around to ward away the pest. He stumbled back and tripped over a fallen log.

Just then Françoise caught up with him and began running up and down the shore barking madly at the raft as the saltwater carried it away.

Pocahontas and John Rolfe sat up and glanced back at the chaotic scene on the shrinking shoreline. “Be careful, Flit!” Pocahontas called to him, looking deeply concerned.

Pocahontas and Rolfe screamed at the top of their lungs when a big gray animal leapt out of the water over the raft and dove down into the other side. Pocahontas stopped screaming as soon as she realized it was a dolphin. Rolfe did not get such a close look as saltwater had splattered in his eyes so he assumed it was a shark and kept shrieking.

Pocahontas grabbed the pistol before he could turn it on the sea mammal and clapped her free hand over his mouth. “It’s okay, John! She won’t hurt us,” she said in a reassuring tone as the athletic animal leapt over them again, drenching them. 

John Rolfe looked around into the dark water frantically, holding one of the paddles like a weapon and keeping all his limbs out of the water. “Are you crazy?!” he snapped back in terror as he shot a look of skepticism at his female companion.

“It was just a dolphin,” Pocahontas explained. John Rolfe raised an eyebrow and then almost fell over as the raft began moving at a rapid pace. Pocahontas grabbed a hold of his shirt before he could tumble overboard, helping him regain his balance.

“What’s happening?” John Rolfe cried. Pocahontas pointed behind him at the dolphin using its shiny gray beak to propel the raft forward in the water. More dolphins appeared in the surrounding area, thinking the raft was a toy for them to play with. Rolfe held onto the sides of the raft to keep himself steady as the animals jerked it around. He glanced at Pocahontas with a worried look on his face.

“They’re just playing,” Pocahontas replied.

By the time Flit stopped pestering the bosun, Pocahontas and Rolfe were much too far away to shoot at. They were tiny specks rapidly disappearing behind a bend in the coastline. The bosun snarled in anger and threw down his gun. It exploded and nearly hit Françoise. The startled hound ran off into the swamp whimpering loudly.

It took Flit a minute to catch up with the seafaring raft but he eventually did and perched on Rolfe’s shoulder panting rapidly. Fortunately the dolphins had already grown bored of the floating item and were leaping around nearby, playing with each other instead.

Pocahontas looked immensely relieved when she caught sight of Flit. She took him in her cupped hands. “That was very brave of you, Flit!” she lauded, not failing to notice his missing tail feather. “Are you my brave little warrior falcon or what?” she teased, giving him a stroke on the belly. He stopped heaving long enough to give her a proud look.

Meeko and Percy were still curled up together inside the raft whimpering fearfully. Pocahontas put Flit in her lap and reached back to pet the others. John Rolfe was still breathing heavily from the shock and exertion. But as they sailed further away from the crazed pirate, Rolfe began to relax. He took to the oar, paddling them along at a faster pace only to become aggravated when one of the dolphins snatched away the oar.

John Rolfe sighed and decided to let the current do the work. He laid back and looked up at the rapidly passing clouds. The winds were relatively calm so they were all five startled when two more dolphins appeared on each side of the long raft. One of them nudged the Englishman with its nose in curiosity.

“May I have my oar back please?” John Rolfe fruitlessly beseeched. The animal only made a rapid clicking noise and swam back, balancing itself out of the water with its muscular tail. Rolfe put his hands on his hips. “Oh, very funny!”

Pocahontas laughed. She was lying on her side up front, nuzzling and cooing at the other dolphin. Rolfe frowned and crossed his arms in annoyance. Fortunately the gorgeous scenery did something to lift his mood. Just then Pocahontas looked up at John. “It’s beautiful. This moment would be perfect if only I weren’t so thirsty,” she noted.

Rolfe glanced down, twiddling his thumbs. “I’m sorry, love. I promise I’ll get you something to eat and drink as soon as I possibly can. I think we’re going to be alright now so long as we don’t run into any more pirates.” Pocahontas simply nodded and started petting the dolphin with a relatively serene look on her face.

…

Adahy’s dragonfly blackstone dagger glowed with power after hours of extracting energy from unfortunate hosts. The pain of thieves and murderers was nowhere near enough to make the blade capable of rejuvenating Adahy’s lost limbs fully but the demon made its best effort. The result was a half-formed skeletal hand extending from his severed left wrist—he had always been left-handed. It was missing a pinky and the last phalange of each finger save the thumb but it was functional enough nonetheless.

The man gripped the dagger’s hilt in his new bony hand as the last streaks of the demon’s power coursed through his body. The pirates that he had captured were now all dead. The demon had extracted every last drop of life-force from them to regenerate itself.

The demon still needed purer souls to obtain the quantity of power it truly desired. Only courageous innocents possessed the type of energy that could free the wicked spirit from its confines within the dagger. The demon detected only two such souls around for hundreds of miles and Adahy had no doubts about who they were. He had been foolish enough to ignore the woman the first time around but he would not repeat that mistake.

Adahy crinkled his nose at the smell coming from the swamp. The vast marshland was the last barrier between him and the souls he was after. _Check the shoreline for boats. We may be able to bypass the muck. It will only slow us down and I have waited long enough!_ came the demon’s shrill voice in his ear. Adahy ground his teeth at the noise but nodded in compliance. _Good. Now go!_ the voice commanded.

Adahy gathered as many food items and supplies as he could carry from the mutilated human carcasses, whistled for Kelele, and then marched off eastward toward the beach. It was mid-morning and the sun shone brightly against the pale beach sand. Indeed there was a rowboat pulled up on the shore that looked like it could carry ten men. He chucked the supply packs into the boat and used his feet to push the vessel back into the shallow surf. The waves were mild, making the task easier for him to handle given his handicap.

Adahy smiled when Kelele started to use his paws to help with the chore. As soon as the boat was afloat in the saltwater, the dog jumped in and Adahy led the vessel out of the shallows. The northward current was strong. Adahy could only hope that the wild goose chase for the fugitives had slowed everyone down enough for him to catch up. He realized the other crewmen likely thought him dead. He knew precisely what he had to do once he got ahold of the Englishman and the clever tribal woman. But he feared what would happen if the crew captured them first. He had to have them both for himself. It was the only way to defeat the shame that threatened his afterlife.

His very soul depended upon his success. If he had to attack the rest of the crew to get at the escapees, then he would do so. He had already slaughtered more than ten of them. What was a few dozen more? As the current picked up, Adahy used one of the oars as a rudder to keep the boat on course. Unfortunately he was not capable of rowing in his condition but he kept his hopes up and his eyes on the northern horizon regardless. The wind picked up speed, tossing his black hair about like leaves over a forest canopy.

…

They had barely travelled a dozen miles when the ominous tattered sails of the _Blood Draw_ came into view over a distant canopy. The ship appeared to be anchored in a small bay. Rolfe felt his throat bob as his eyes caught flashes of the hull through the woods. He sat up and grabbed Pocahontas by the shoulder as he sensed they were approaching the swamp’s end. The mangroves were growing sparser and sparser the further they went.

“We need to keep out of sight. There could be spies with telescopes posted anywhere along the shoreline and on the ship. I need to figure out how to get us past the ship without being spotted.” As they came to the end of the mangroves, Rolfe lowered himself into the water to bring the raft closer to shore. He pushed it right up close to the mangroves and tied it to a protruding branch to keep the waves from carrying it away.

Pocahontas blinked at him. “You have any ideas?”

The Englishman thought for a moment and then nodded. “I believe I do. We need a scout. Flit! Go and assess the coastline. See if there are any pirates on the ship and how many,” John Rolfe instructed. Flit promptly nodded, saluted him, and buzzed off through the sparse woods and over the bay toward the sleek pirate ship.

When Flit arrived, there was no one on deck. He looked over the side and saw one man on shore about a quarter mile away keeping watch over the ship. Flit flew down into one of the open-hatch windows and found himself in the captain’s personal quarters. He checked the place top to bottom and found no one. Next he left and surveyed the rest of the ship. All of the cabins were empty, including the berth for the low-ranked members of the crew, the galley, and the mess hall. The ship seemed deserted.

Flit turned tail and flew back to land, hiding near the crewman who was guarding the ship. There was an empty bottle of rum at his feet and he was slumped against a tree in a deep drunken stupor. Flit scouted the area more, finding the next pirate further inland. There were others further in. Some hiding in bushes, others in trees. It appeared that the crew expected the fugitives to pass through on land.

Flit smirked fiendishly, knowing that this gave them an advantage. Time was limited though. If the bosun made it back to the others and told them what happened, Flit and his friends would be in real trouble. The hummingbird knew he had to move fast. He flew back to the others as fast as his little wings could carry him.

John Rolfe was the first to spot him. “Was anyone on the ship, Flit?” he inquired.

Flit shook his head.

“What about on shore watching the ship?”

Flit nodded.

“How many? More than one?”

Flit shook his head.

“Only one guarding the ship?” Rolfe said, surprised at the news.

Flit nodded and John Rolfe looked to Pocahontas. “That’s odd that they left only one man to guard the ship. There have got to be hundreds of pirates in Bleud’s crew. I still wonder whatever happened to the other ship,” he wondered aloud. “Perhaps they stayed on the southern end of the swamp in case we decided to backtrack.”

Pocahontas shrugged. “I have no idea, John. By the way, I just had a thought. If there aren’t any pirates on the ship, maybe we can sneak up there to steal some food and water from them while they’re away. What do you think?” she proposed.

John Rolfe looked worried at the suggestion. “I don’t know, Pocahontas. It seems awfully risky.” He looked to Flit who seemed to side with Pocahontas in the way he hovered by her shoulder grinning. “On the other hand, going without food or water is risky too. Alright, fine. We’ll do it but only I go aboard. You’re too injured to make a quick escape so I want you to stay in the raft with Meeko and Percy. Use your oar to get to safety should anything go wrong,” he decreed, relenting.

Pocahontas nodded her agreement and John Rolfe glanced back to the hummingbird. “Flit, will we be spotted if we head straight for the ship?” the Englishman inquired. Flit thought back to the drunken crewman and shook his head.

“Alright. We’ll hide the raft behind the ship while I’m onboard. Let’s go. Pocahontas, I’d like you to stay down just in case,” John Rolfe warned, paddling them into open water. It was a nerve-wrecking experience for Rolfe as he feared a pirate might spot them on some off chance and inform the others. They stood no chance against the crew by themselves, same as before. They were hopelessly outnumbered.

It took about ten minutes for them to reach the ship across the bay though it felt like much longer seeing as they were exposed the whole time. Pocahontas finally sat up and breathed a sigh of relief as the raft came up against the hidden right side of the _Blood Draw_. Rolfe wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Whew, that’s a relief!” he uttered, using one of the ship’s spare lines to tie the raft in place against the strong current.

While there was likely a rope ladder on the other side, John Rolfe did not want to risk exposure. He swam over to the anchor line. He began to climb up the rope, receiving an unexpected boost from one of the playful dolphins. “Th-thanks!” he murmured, pulling himself up to the deck. The place was indeed deserted as Flit had indicated.

Rolfe cried out in shock when he felt something claw its way up to his shoulder. It turned out to be Meeko. The raccoon had followed him in hope of finding food. Percy remained in the raft whimpering, unable to climb like the raccoon. “Oh, Meeko, thank goodness. Perhaps you can help me.” Rolfe glanced around though the only signs of sustenance on deck were several large barrels of French rum tied to the railing and main mast. He was more concerned with food and water. Unfortunately Rolfe was unfamiliar with the layout of the _Blood Draw_. “Help me sniff out the food storage, Meeko,” he uttered.

Meeko nodded and hopped down from his shoulder. They walked to the stairs leading down below deck. It was dark and eerie and Rolfe gulped at the thought of having to go down there. _“Be careful and check for pirates,”_ he whispered to the masked animal.

Meeko sniffed his way down the stairs and into the narrow hall. John Rolfe followed cautiously, moving slowly to make the floorboards creak as little as possible. The Englishman held his pistol in a ready position in case someone tried to ambush him. While he was tempted to light a torch to show the way, he did not want to give himself away. Instead he waited at the bottom of the staircase for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting provided by a few round hatch windows. If the sun had not been high up in the sky, he doubted he would be able to see much of anything.

Once he could make out a few shapes in the dimness, he crept forward and spotted what looked like a full skin on top of a barrel. He suspected it was full of rum but he figured he would test it to make sure. To his delight, it turned out to be a skin of water. He glanced around cautiously and pushed open the door to the pirates’ berthing quarters. The room was lined with empty hammocks and a few trappings Rolfe assumed to belong to the crewmen. His goal was on the other side of the room. There were two hatch windows lining the wall of the hull. They were slightly out of reach so Rolfe pushed a wooden chest beneath one and used it to boost himself up to the window.

He unhooked the hatch and poked his head out. _“Psst, Pocahontas!”_ he whispered to get her attention. She raised her eyebrows and looked up at him just as he dropped the full skin of water down to her. _“It’s water, love. Drink up!”_

Pocahontas caught the item. “Thanks, John!” she quickly replied, pulling out the cork. She started chugging the water like there was no tomorrow.

 _Wow,_ John Rolfe thought. He looked down at Meeko on the floor who had found a small sack of biscuits. “She really was thirsty!” Rolfe said. Meeko jumped up to the man’s shoulder and stuck his furry head out the window with his mouth full of biscuits. He waved down to Pocahontas and Percy. The pug growled at him and was about to start barking. Pocahontas poured some water into her hand and offered it to Percy. The dog lost interest in Meeko’s taunts as he lapped up the water to rehydrate himself.

“I’m going to find more water and hopefully food somewhere. I’ll be back soon, love! Don’t worry!” he said, blowing her a kiss.

“Okay, just be careful!” Pocahontas called after him in a low voice. But he was already gone. She and Percy drank the rest of the water until the skin was sucked dry. After that she tossed it aside and leaned forward to pet one of the dolphins that had followed them.

Back inside the ship Rolfe jumped down from the box and left the room. He explored the rest of the level until he came to the mess hall near the stern. There was no food in the mess hall. It was completely empty save some large barrels of rum and a few disorganized chairs and tables. He spotted a stairwell on one side of the room which he could only assume led down to the galley. Rolfe stepped between some overturned chairs and descended further into the belly of the ship. The galley was small and cramped but there was food lying around. Primarily dried sausages and fish hanging from an overhead line, herbs, and some stale bread was just sitting on the dirty preparation counter.

Meeko snatched the stale loaf and began to scarf it down with his sharp little teeth, not much caring about how hard and dry it was. Meanwhile John Rolfe grabbed the fish and sausages, stuffing them into an empty sack. As he explored the cabinets a bit more, he discovered other preserved meats, French cheeses, and fresher breads. He gathered as much as he could fit into the sack and went still, wondering where the pirates might keep their main water supply. Even if they preferred rum, they would assuredly need fresh water for cooking. Rolfe suspected it might be in storage in the hold.

Meeko found another bag of biscuits and jumped up on Rolfe’s shoulder to eat them. Meanwhile the Englishman crept out into the dim hall with the sack over his other shoulder, freezing in place when he heard an unexpected noise coming from down the hall. Meeko stopped stuffing his face momentarily when he heard it too.

They heard it again, louder. It was almost like a whimper. Rolfe raised his eyebrows, wondering if there was livestock on the ship. Meeko dropped the rest of the biscuits as he sniffed the air for the source of the sound. The raccoon seemed to detect something so he hopped down to the floorboards and started sniffing his way down the dark hall.

They followed cautiously until they came to a hefty door with big wooden letters that spelled out the word ‘BRIG.’ Rolfe gulped and prepared his pistol, shaking. He gestured for Meeko to step aside and then kicked down the door with his gun aimed. “Don’t move a muscle or I’ll shoot!” he shouted as the door exploded in a heap of dust and splinters.

A series of terrified high-pitched screams erupted from the interior. John Rolfe stumbled backwards in surprise, falling on his rear end. As the dust settled, the occupants came into view behind heavy iron bars. Rolfe stood up, wide-eyed, and slowly inched his way into the room. Twelve. He counted twelve frightened young women trapped inside the cells. The room was mostly dark but the one dim lamp in the middle of the room assisted Rolfe’s vision. The ladies, some as young as fourteen, huddled together in fear. “S-s’il-vous-plaît, monsieur… no hurt. Please, no hurt,” one of the girls said in a weak voice, breaking into tears. It was a poor attempt at English but Rolfe understood it well enough.

When he got over the immediate shock of the situation, he shook his head to clear his thoughts. “I—I’m not going to hurt any of you,” he said. Still a bit discombobulated, he stepped out into the hall and looked around. The keys hung right by the door. He promptly snatched them and opened the two cells, freeing the captives.

He held up the lamp to see the women better though they cowered away from him in the back of the cells. They had to be French maids from St. Augustine. “I’m not a pirate. I’m a gentleman from London and a diplomat. These pirates have been after us for a while. I only came onboard to steal food for myself and my companions while the pirates are seeking us on land. Beyond releasing you from these cells, I’m afraid I can’t offer much assistance. I’ve got my own to look after,” he explained sadly.

When he saw a few raised eyebrows, he repeated what he had said in French before turning around and sighing deeply. He wished he could save everyone but he was only one man. He hardly had any wilderness survival skills himself to speak of and relied heavily upon his forest-born female companion.

“Wait! But you cannot leave us, monsieur! Please, those horrible men will find us. They’ve taken five of our friends already. We have no clue what they did with them when they were done with them but they must have been killed! They destroyed our home! Please, don’t leave us!” cried one of the girls in French.

As soon as she had spoken, the rest of the women seemed to lose their fear of John Rolfe in an instant. Three blondes and a redhead ran over to him and cut off his retreat from the dark chamber. “Please, you’ve got to help us! What kind of gentleman leaves helpless women to fend for themselves against brigands like those?” added the redhead.

Rolfe bit his lip at the accusation. “Well I was going to recommend you all swim to shore and travel north to Jamestown. My raft won’t carry all of you and the cock boats are gone. The pirates could return to the ship any minute for all I know. I’d be happy to lead the way to Jamestown but beyond that I can’t be of much assistance. Really I want to help but I already have an injured woman to care for as is,” he explained.

“What’s your name, monsieur?” one girl inquired. “Je m’appelle Louise de Vallisée.” It was the brunette, the only girl amongst them that seemed to know any English.

Rolfe put a hand to his chest. “John Rolfe. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I only wish it were under better circumstances. Those of you who can swim should probably follow our raft. Those who can’t—perhaps we can make room for you on the raft. C’mon,” he said. He gently pushed his way through the group of French girls and beckoned them to follow.

“But none of us can swim!” Louise cried in French.

Rolfe turned back to Louise de Vallisée and frowned. Then he remembered the dolphins. “Now that I think about it, I’ve got some friends who might be willing to help…” He suddenly turned and shuffled up the stairs. The women followed behind him, crouching down on deck to avoid exposure just as he did. Rolfe glanced over the landward side of the ship using a telescope he found atop a barrel. The pirates had oddly gathered on the shore again, talking amongst themselves. It looked worrisome to the Brit.

John Rolfe cursed to himself. Making a getaway without being spotted would be much more difficult now. He sat with his back against the railing, trying to think of a way out of the situation. Getting away with Pocahontas alone would be a challenge, let alone twelve delicate French women. “What now?” Louise whispered to him.

John Rolfe did not answer at first and haphazardly glanced up at the sky, sighing in aggravation and worry. He was about to massage the tension out of his temples when he spotted the bound sails high up on the mast.

Louise and the other women watched his countenance as his eyes grew wide and his hands fell to his sides. After a few moments, Louise could not take it anymore. “What is it?!” she vehemently insisted, shocking Rolfe out of his stupor.

He looked at her and then at the rest of the girls. “I think I just got an idea. Ladies, raise your hands if you’re afraid of heights,” he announced.

All of the women raised their eyebrows at the odd question. After a moment’s hesitation, two girls half-heartedly raised their hands. Five more just shrugged. A grin made its way up the side of John Rolfe’s face. “Well then! I suppose you lovely girls wouldn’t be opposed to a bit of hard labor in exchange for your lives, now would you?”

They all shook their heads. Rolfe beckoned them to come a bit closer with a forefinger. “You two, I want you to help each other unfurl the right side of the foresails.” He looked at two others. “You ladies unfurl the left side. You four back there help each other with the topsails but be careful. On my orders. Everyone get ready. We’re going to out-pirate these pirates and steal their ship right out from under their noses. Crawl over to the masts and await my signal, all of you,” he decreed, pointing.

The girls did as they were told. John Rolfe waited until everyone was in position and then went over to the side of the ship facing the ocean. He found a break in the railing and poked his head through. “Psst, Pocahontas!” he called down to her. The Powhatan woman glanced up at him. “Current’s pretty strong, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “I’m afraid this flimsy line is about to snap. What’s taking so long?”

“Change of plans,” Rolfe replied, chucking a line over the side with a large wooden pail tied to the end. “Put Percy in there and I’ll pull him up,” he instructed. “Hurry!”

Pocahontas looked confused but did as he said. Rolfe pulled Percy up to the deck and warned him to keep quiet. He took another rope and tied a large loop at the end, lowering it to Pocahontas. “Put this around your legs and hold on. I’m going to pull you up.”

Pocahontas pulled the survival pack over her shoulder and put the turtle shell on her head. Then she slipped the loop around her feet and pulled it up to mid thigh level, holding onto the knot tightly. “Okay,” she said, looking down to the dolphins. She waved goodbye to them before Rolfe pulled her up and out of the raft.

When Pocahontas was almost all the way up, Rolfe reached down toward her. “Give me your machete, quick!” he beseeched. She handed it to him. He took it with his free hand and severed the anchor line in one smooth motion. The ship suddenly bobbed up free from the binding and began to move with the current toward the mouth of the bay.

With the sudden jerk, Rolfe nearly lost his grip on Pocahontas’s rope. He was forced to drop the machete to grab her rope with both hands. Pocahontas yelped at the sudden jolt but was able to reach out in time to catch her machete before it fell into the depths.

Pocahontas quickly clipped the machete back onto her belt just before John Rolfe yanked her up with a great deal of strength. He caught her in his arms bridal-style and carried her over the railing onto the ship’s deck. “Now!” he cried to the French women as the current began to sweep the ship out of the bay faster and faster.

The ladies did as they were told and climbed up the masts as fast as they could, helping each other to unleash the sails. Rolfe was surprised to discover they required less instruction from him than he had expected. It made some sense considering that they were all the daughters and granddaughters of seafaring French sailors. How else would their families have gotten to St. Augustine from France in the first place?

Suddenly the sound of gunfire erupted from the shrinking shoreline and John Rolfe yelped in surprise. “Girls! Climb down now!” he called up into the masts, quickly sitting Pocahontas down on a sturdy barrel. More gunfire was heard and a bullet zipped right by Louise’s position, tearing a small hole in the topsail. The frightened young lady screamed and lost her grip though her companion tried to grab a hold of her.

She fell toward the hard deck, shrieking in terror. But the expected impact never arrived because John Rolfe caught her in his strong arms and placed her back on her feet. “Thank goodness!” cried one of her friends, only to shriek as another bullet zipped by.

“Jump! I’ll catch you!” John Rolfe cried. She did and he caught her. He had to catch two more women and the rest were able to climb down the far side using the broad main mast as a shield. All the women including Pocahontas crouched to the deck while John Rolfe ran to the helm, squatting low as he drove the ship bow-first out of the bay.

The winds picked up and filled the open sails, turning the deck out of firing range from the pirate gunners. “I’LL GET YOU, ROLFE! THERE’S NOWHERE ON EARTH YOU’LL BE SAFE FROM ME! MARK MY WORDS, BOY!” Flame screamed at the top of his lungs. The furious howl echoed over the bay, gradually fading as the _Blood Draw_ entered the waters of the Atlantic Ocean.


	9. The Princess Pocahontas

****It was not long after the pirates were out of sight that the sailorettes on the ship rejoiced loudly. Pocahontas glanced up at Rolfe on the helm and then down at the cheerful French maidens again. She smiled. Everything had worked out and at last they were headed home. With any luck, they would never see another pirate for as long as they lived.

“Ladies, I’ve charted a course to Jamestown in Virginia. Ships regularly navigate back and forth from there to England. I’m terribly sorry for all of your recent losses,” John Rolfe spoke in French, addressing the twelve white women on deck. They quieted down as he spoke, listening intently. Rolfe did not fail to notice Pocahontas raising a brow.

He continued in French, “If you have any family remaining in France, I’m sure King James would be delighted to offer you passage back home. If not we will make arrangements for you to stay elsewhere. But first we’ll need a round of introductions. As you all know, my name is John Rolfe and I am a diplomat from England,” John Rolfe announced. Then he gestured down to Pocahontas who was still seated on a small barrel with her injured heel up off the deck. “That young lady is Pocahontas. She is a native of Virginia, princess of the friendly Powhatan tribe—a new ally of England, and France by extension. Now I would like to know all of your names.”

He glanced down in expectation at the familiar brunette. “You are Louise, correct?”

She nodded. “Louise de Vallisée.” She glanced at Pocahontas with deep green eyes. “I speak little English, mademoiselle,” she explained with a smile.

Pocahontas nodded as eleven other curious faces looked at her. She smiled at all of them. The looks they gave her seemed to inquire about a hundred questions that their mouths could not express but there would be time for translations later.

Rolfe’s gaze was focused on the young lady standing next to Louise, a wavy blonde with pale grey eyes. When she noticed him looking at her, she flushed lightly and glanced down at the deck. “Je m’appelle Denise, Denise-Giselle Isaacs,” she murmured.

John Rolfe nodded. “Bienvenue, Denise,” he replied, casually shifting his gaze to the next lovely face in the small crowd. The third girl greatly resembled Denise so Rolfe thought they might be related. His theory was proven correct when she identified herself as Geneviève Isaacs. One by one, the girls sounded off.

“Isabelle Marie de Thou,” came the voice of a tall platinum blonde.

A slightly taller brunette with hazel eyes was next. “Lorraine Ribault Tavernier.”

Then came a short blonde with brown eyes. “Madeleine.”

“Nicole Lorrise St. Germaine,” stated a gorgeous blue-eyed blonde.

“Je m’appelle Simone.”

The redhead spoke next. “Marie-Claude.”

“Catherine Rose Sauvage.”

“Charlotte.”

“Jacqueline Blazier Rousseau.”

Pocahontas glanced at each of them, repeating the names she heard in her head in an attempt to commit them to memory. _Louise de Vallisée, Denise-Giselle Isaacs, Geneviève Isaacs, Isabelle Marie de Thou, Lorraine Ribault Tavernier, Madeleine, Nicole Lorrise St. Germaine, Je m’appelle Simone, Marie-Claude, Catherine Rose Sauvage, Charlotte, and Jacqueline Blazier Rousseau,_ she thought to herself as her eyes followed the line of young women. Nope. No way was she going to remember all those strange exotic names without having to ask for a million reminders.

Madeleine gasped when she noticed Pocahontas’s wrapped ankle. She quickly shuffled over and kneeled by the Powhatan woman. “Que se passe-t-il?” she inquired with a look of worry as she examined the injury. She looked up and met Pocahontas’s eyes.

Pocahontas glanced down, understanding the question from mere context. “Um… something fell on it,” she tried to explain, realizing Madeleine would not understand.

Fortunately Louise came over to assist them. “Madeleine was in training to be a nurse before our home was attacked,” she explained. “She can help you get better if you like.”

Nicole was glancing flirtatiously at John Rolfe when he looked down and overheard the exchange. To the young blonde’s discontentment, he deposited her at the helm with barely a glimpse and went to carry Pocahontas down below deck. He selected Lorraine to serve as the ship’s cook, showing her to the galley. Two other girls helped her clean up the cooking and eating areas while John Rolfe returned to the helm to direct the others.

…

When the bosun arrived back at camp huffing and puffing from the exertion, the crew was packing up their supplies. Oddly enough the ship was nowhere to be seen. The bosun noticed Flame stomping about on a tirade the likes of which the crew had not seen in years. The furious captain held a gun to one of the crewmen’s heads, urging the fool to pack the muskets up faster because the ‘Spaniard’ was getting away with his beloved _Draw_. The bosun’s mouth fell open in disbelief.

When Flame spotted the bosun, he stomped over furiously. “You! You were supposed to catch him!” he roared, placing a hand menacingly on the hilt of his sword.

The bosun was unimpressed by Flame’s tendency to lash out. He shook his head. “I followed them to the shoreline but it was too late. They had built a raft and fled before I got there. What I do not understand is how they could have gotten to the ship. Was it not under guard, captain?” he inquired, demonstrating neither fear nor aggression.

“Of course it was under…!” Flame paused. “Wait. Did you say _they_?”

The bosun nodded. “The woman is alive. I glanced her just before they disappeared with the current. I tried to catch up but the current was too strong. They had a huge head start.”

Flame snarled in rage. Taking his sword from its scabbard, he turned and threw it into a tree. It embedded about three inches deep. “We’ve no hope of catching up to ‘em. Save the cock boat, we’re stranded here!” he hissed. “Marooned, I tell ye!”

“Who was guarding the ship?”

“Doesn’t matter. He’s dead. I killed the drunken twit,” Flame replied simply, glaring angrily at the ground as he stomped off to retrieve his blade. It was not easy to pull back out but the angered captain managed it with a few up and down jerks. “No one left to blame but you,” he uttered bitterly, turning the sword in the bosun’s direction.

“You might not want to do that, sir,” the bosun countered, remaining calm.

“And why not?” Flame retorted, approaching with the tip of his sword held to the bosun’s neck. His eyes burned with barely contained rage as he eyed the taller man up and down. “I never liked you anyway, jungle savage.”

“Because, captain, if anyone has a chance of retrieving the ship and catching the fugitives, it is I. But I cannot help you if I am dead. With all due respect.” The bosun suppressed the urge to grin as Flame raised a brow in curiosity, lowering the blade.

Captain Flame was silent for an extended moment as he tried to read the bosun’s blank countenance. Eventually he gave up and sheathed his sword in defeat. “Fine. What had ye in mind, mate? And it had better work!” he snapped.

“We need more than one cock boat to carry us all. Put the men to work building rafts. We’ll follow the current. The fugitives will be overconfident after their thieving escapade. They have no crew so they will not be able to sail for long without anchoring to rest.”

“Build rafts with what? The tools are back on the ship. We have only guns, swords, and a few provisions. And what of the men guarding the south border?” Flame contended.

“A resourceful man does not need metal tools. Come, I will show everyone how it is done,” the bosun finished, beckoning Flame to follow him back to the frantically packing crew on the shore. “Also, sir, I have reason to believe those men you spoke of are dead. I heard the sounds of a battle in the swamp. They were likely attacked by hostile natives.”

Flame caught up to him. “What?! Are you sure?”

“Yes. Going back to get them is a lost cause, captain,” the bosun said, adjusting his eye patch. It was only then that Flame noticed it.

“What happened to your eye, mate?” Flame inquired.

The bosun sneered. “I was stung in the eye by a giant insect though I believe my eye will recover. It just needs time to heal. I’ll need it to be a good shot with my gun.”

Flame nodded. “Good luck with that. Now get to work with the crew! Go on, go!”

The bosun bobbed his head and ran off to begin instructing the other men on the art of raft-building. For such a silent man, he was surprisingly good at giving orders.

…

Adahy had not expected to catch up to the pirates before Rolfe and Pocahontas but that is precisely what happened. He heard what sounded like raucous crewmen as the current pushed his boat along the mangroves of the Floridian coastline. He used his skeletal hand to grab hold of a mangrove branch, stopping the boat from floating any further once the crew came into view. He spied them from a distance with a telescope.

They had split off into groups and each was busy constructing something on the ground. Adahy could not tell what it was they were doing at first until the obvious absence of the _Blood Draw_ dawned on him. There were far fewer men on the shore than he expected and he began to wonder where the rest of the crew went. Adahy had to find out more. He stepped out of the boat into the shallow waters and used his hand to pull the boat up into a hidden alcove among the mangroves. Kelele appeared to be about to jump out of the boat but Adahy gestured him to stay put. He intended to investigate alone as he had to find out what was going on before making any appropriate adjustments to his plans.

The ex-warrior crept through the dense brush as silently as he could. He had to wander pretty far before he came upon the shore clearing where the men were working. Hiding behind a fallen stump, Adahy was able to make out what they were building. They appeared to be long rafts made of all manner of random forest debris. It was a sign of desperation. Had they lost the ship? Had there been a mutiny? Had it sunk?

Adahy shook his head. Something fishy was going on and he knew he had to get to the bottom of it or he would surely die of curiosity. He dropped to his belly, crawling under the log like a snake. The closer he got, the less cover there was. Nothing but tall grass and thorny bushes yet onward he went in pursuit of knowledge.

He stopped and listened when he felt he was close enough to overhear some tidbits of conversation. It was Spike-Eyes who was talking the loudest. Something about the ship being stolen… by John Rolfe! Adahy raised a brow, jolting when the bosun came over yelling loud commands. “We need more long sticks over here! Cut down those saplings! Use your swords if you’ve no axes,” he shouted, pointing in Adahy’s direction.

As a few men approached the area, Adahy panicked and rolled over to maneuver his body back in the opposite direction without being spotted. He frantically belly-crawled back the way he had come, managing to hide behind a large tree in the nick of time.

“Didja hear something?” one of the men muttered. The two others shook their heads and got to work chopping away. They created enough noise for Adahy to retreat further. All he had gathered was that John Rolfe had somehow stolen the _Blood Draw_ and left the crew marooned. He decided to roll with it and headed back toward the cock boat.

In all likelihood, the crewmen would spot the boat as it floated north with the current but Adahy figured he could throw the other pirates off by crouching down inside of it. They would not know who the occupant was or perhaps they would think it abandoned. It would take another hour or two for them to finish their own rafts so it was unlikely they would be able to catch up to him in time to get their hands on his cock boat.

Either way Adahy had a better chance than any of them of catching up to the stolen ship. He returned to the boat to find Kelele sitting in exactly the same spot as when he had left. He praised the animal before kicking the boat back into the waters and jumping in just in time to catch the current. He lay down under the thwarts of the boat, commanding his dog to do the same, and waited for the current to carry them past the bay.

…

Lorraine descended to the galley along with her best friend Isabelle. Word spread on deck that they were preparing a delicious stew. Meanwhile Rolfe had left the beautiful Nicole at the helm while the sea was calm and friendly. He left Pocahontas in the care of Louise and Madeleine and went to investigate the state of the captain’s quarters on the ship.

The sisters Denise and Genevieve accompanied John Rolfe into Bleud’s former cabin. While richly decorated, the place was a pigsty from decades of exclusive occupation by villainous slobs. The girls went to work cleaning the place up for the new occupant while Rolfe himself rummaged through the old captain’s generous collection of plunder and trappings. In a chest buried under the bed, Rolfe uncovered a treasure trove of fine clothing that appeared to have been unworn and clean. It included both fancy men’s suits as well as a lovely red dress. He took the dress and handed it to Denise. “Be a dear and take this to Pocahontas, will you? I think she would appreciate something to wear while her own clothes are being washed,” he politely requested in the girl’s native tongue.

The short blonde nodded and took the dress but then looked up with a raised brow. “Where’s the rest of it, sir?” she inquired, feeling around the soft deep red silk.

“Pardon?”

“The corset is missing,” Denise clarified, showing him the inside of the dress. “Were you unable to find it when you were looking through the clothes?”

“Oh, that!” John Rolfe quickly replied. “No, not at all. Pocahontas does not like to wear corsets so I simply excluded it,” he explained. Denise gave him the oddest look but then shrugged and left with the dress to do as he had requested.

Simone had uncovered the ship’s freshwater supply down in the hold. There was more than enough for drinking to last them until Jamestown plus two baths at least so Rolfe decided to take one. Two of the girls prepared it for him in a tub found in storage in the hold. He washed himself thoroughly and cleaned out the tub, making it available for Pocahontas’s use. Afterwards he dressed himself in a white linen undershirt, an open-neck light gold satin doublet, fine knit stockings, tight-fitting Spanish breeches, heeled tan sheepskin boots, boothose, and a wide-brimmed hat.

When Rolfe reemerged up top, all the girls working on deck stopped to look at him. He simply tipped his hat to them all and stated in French, “Carry on, ladies.” With a wide smile, he climbed the steps to the helm to relieve Nicole Lorrise St. Germaine.

The girl was a confident blue-eyed blonde. She stood about 5’8” tall and was into her late teens. Contrary to John Rolfe’s expectation, she did not run off in search of another duty once relieved. Rather she stayed by him at the helm, smiling sweetly as he bowed to her and took the wheel. “Thank you, Captain Rolfe,” she said.

Rolfe flushed slightly. “I’m not really a proper captain but I will do my best to bring this ship into port for all our sakes. Thank you, milady. So tell me, Mademoiselle Nicole, have you any special talents? I figure it wise to keep every girl’s natural abilities in mind when determining their best role for the crew,” he replied in a conversational manner.

Nicole seemed delighted to make conversation. “Oh yes. I have many talents, monsieur. Where should I begin? I’m a talented seamstress. Not by necessity but by hobby. We had servants due to Father’s wealth but I do enjoy embroidery and other such feminine crafts for mere recreation if nothing more.” She sighed a bit, reminiscing. “I do miss Father but fortunately he was already on his death bed when the pirates attacked. He would not have lived much longer. What I am most aggrieved about is the death of my betrothed,” she lamented, sighing miserably. “He was trying to protect me when they broke in.”

John Rolfe frowned. “Oh… Mademoiselle, I am terribly sorry for your loss. I know the pain. I lost someone very close to my heart not over three years ago,” he replied. “It was horrible at first but the pain will fade over time. That I guarantee. Just remember that God will care for your lost loved ones. I found the church a great comfort. Perhaps we ought to hold a prayer vigil tonight after supper.”

“Oh, yes. That is a splendid idea! I’m certain the girls will appreciate it. What should my duties be on the ship thereafter? I wouldn’t want to be useless when everyone else is working so hard,” she added, aiming to please.

“Hm,” Rolfe said in thought. “It looks like we have enough working on deck for now. Many of the women seem to have torn and muddied clothes from the pirate raid. Perhaps they would appreciate it if you could do some repairs? Would also help to make the dresses a bit more seaworthy if you could. I see Charlotte there is struggling to keep her dress from flying up in her face, poor girl. Perhaps if you could find an aesthetically pleasing way to adhere the skirts to the legs, the ladies might appreciate it. The less puffy the better or else the linen might get caught on hooks on the masts. It could be dangerous in rough weather. I wouldn’t want anyone to fall and break her neck.”

Nicole curtsied. “Then I shall strive to make the very best seafaring fashion for ladies the world has ever known. Thank you, Captain Rolfe.”

John Rolfe tipped his hat to her. Just as Nicole disappeared below deck, the wind picked up and he was forced to use the strap to adhere it to his head. His half-cape fluttered magnificently in the warm subtropical breeze.

…

Pocahontas quickly determined that Madeleine and Louise were excellent caregivers. The former was able to tell that she had no broken bones. It was a relief to know for sure but the ankle was still much swollen. The French women wrapped it carefully and then later assisted Pocahontas in bathing when a tub was made available for her use. It was a great relief to get completely clean after the whole disgusting swamp fiasco.

Louise had taken her clothes away for washing as Pocahontas lingered in the tub. The green-eyed brunette returned with clean clothes but they were not the ones Pocahontas had been wearing. “Your clothes are very dirty. Since you do not wish to discard them, I will need to heat some water in the galley to clean them properly. That will take some time but Monsieur Rolfe found something for you to wear while you wait, princess,” Louise explained, presenting the long red dress. Louise blushed a bit, glancing at the floor as she held the garment. “Monsieur Rolfe also claimed that you… eh… do not like to wear certain undergarments. So I do not have the proper corset for you, I am afraid.”

The French woman seemed to expect Pocahontas to be embarrassed at the notion of going without but all she did was smile in appreciation. “That is beautiful. Thanks! I suppose I should get out of the water before my skin starts to wrinkle,” Pocahontas replied, adjusting her position. Madeleine returned to the room with a drying cloth and the women helped Pocahontas get out of the tub, dry herself off, and get dressed.

The dress fit perfectly. Like the off-white gown she had worn to the Hunt Ball, this one was off the shoulders. The sheer billowing sleeves only went down just past her elbows. There was no cage beneath to make the ballroom bell shape. Instead a few layers of ruffles added a slight but shapely expanse to the dress. A ruby-like jewel marked the dark red silk over her heart and a gold trim accentuated the jewel, sleeves, and waistband.

Unfortunately Madeleine tied the dress up too tight in the back as if trying to substitute the body of the dress for a corset. She did not seem to understand when Pocahontas tried to express her discomfort. To avoid awkwardness, Pocahontas decided to ask Rolfe to loosen it later rather than push the point. Sometimes she doubted that white women possessed lungs but she shrugged off the thought in favor of something more pleasant.

The garment came with moccasin-like silk slippers. Pocahontas wore only one of them on her good foot, leaving the other in her cabin. Madeleine had rewrapped Pocahontas’s sore ankle after the bath and then obtained crutches for her from down in the hold so she could move about all by herself without constant assistance. Lastly Louise offered to fix up her hair with a red satin rose hair ornament. Set off by her mother’s turquoise necklace, the entire ensemble looked utterly stunning.

Pocahontas thanked her new friends for all their help, took her new crutches, and made her way back up to the open deck to see how John Rolfe and the others were doing. In fact Rolfe was busy dispensing a few orders to the sailorettes on deck in French when she emerged. Their eyes met and she smiled as his dilated at the sight of her. The sun nearing mid-sky glistened off the jewel on her dress as Rolfe approached her with a look of rapture on his handsome face. He took one of Pocahontas’s hands in his own.

“Pocahontas, you look absolutely dazzling,” Rolfe told her. “As per usual.” He kissed her hand and gestured up to the helm where he had briefly left Jacqueline at the wheel in his place. There was an embroidered chair by the steering position with a matching stool in front of it. “I’ve set up an area of comfort for you if you’d like to linger with me at the helm. On the other hand, there is a comfortable sitting area in my quarters if the wind picks up too much and bothers you. It is much nicer than the mess hall, love.”

“Not at all. I love the wind,” Pocahontas countered. He escorted her up the stairs and helped her get comfortable, propping her injured ankle up on the stool to elevate it and stashing her crutches in the corner where she could easily reach them. When she was comfortable she leaned over and whispered to Rolfe. _“Madeleine tied the dress too tight. Can you loosen it a bit, John?”_ she softly requested.

John Rolfe smiled. “Certainly, love.” He knelt down and fixed her dress, much to her relief. Then she laid back in the cushioned chair with much greater comfort. “I suppose you must be hungry,” Rolfe suggested. “We’ve got someone working in the galley on a nice meal. It should be ready soon but I figured you’d be hungry straightaway so I fetched you a snack from below,” he said, pulling out a slice of bread and an apple.

Pocahontas was much appreciative as she devoured the two items, retaining more than enough appetite for the upcoming lunch. She lounged in the chair and watched John Rolfe sail the ship at the helm, his billowing red-brown hair glimmering in the midday sun. He looked beautiful as he stood tall and proud at the ship’s steering wheel, chanting the occasional order to the crewwomen on the deck.

Meanwhile Meeko poked his head out of a nearby barrel, startling one of the French women who was stowing a length of rope away for later use. She squealed lightly but Meeko took no notice as he scrambled up the stairs, perching himself in Pocahontas’s lap. The young woman laughed. “Hello, Meeko! I was wondering where you’d run off to.”

He appeared to be a bit woozy. Fortunately he had put on weight from their brief time on land so Pocahontas was not so worried that he might not survive the voyage. Sticking close to the coastline helped. Hopefully the water would remain calm until they arrived home for the raccoon’s sake. The trip to Jamestown was expected to take a few weeks.

Rolfe tipped his hat to Meeko, not that the raccoon bothered to notice. “There’s clear sailing ahead, the wind is calm, and the scenery is absolutely stunning. It seems our troubles are over, Pocahontas,” he declared, grinning widely as Flit and Percy emerged from below deck as well. The pug was sniffing the ground in search of Pocahontas but Flit was the first to spot her and Rolfe at the helm. The hummingbird chirped to get Percy’s attention, causing the small dog to yap excitedly when he sighted them.

Percy was about to dart toward Pocahontas and the others but got intercepted by a few French women. He would have protested the roadblock but the girls began to pet and cuddle him. They also fed him dog biscuits which he enjoyed immensely. If not for Meeko’s slight queasiness, there might have been some rivalry involved. Instead the raccoon just curled up in Pocahontas’s lap as if planning to sleep off the seasickness.

Flit perched on John Rolfe’s shoulder as he turned the wheel slightly at a bend in the coastline. There were only a few sections of white sand beach. Mostly all they saw were thick mangroves and dense hammocks. Pocahontas had seen enough of it. All she wanted now was to get home in one piece. Instead of gazing at the forest and wondering what lay behind them, she kept her eyes on Rolfe as she wondered what lay ahead.

…

The lunchtime stew was a conglomeration of lamb and seasonal vegetables taken from St. Augustine during the attack so the girls were quite familiar with how to properly cook them. In fact the ship was so loaded with fresh food supplies from the settlement that Lorraine became even more ambitious for the evening meal.

Since there was a passenger aboard the ship that had never had the pleasure to taste French cuisine, Lorraine became determined to prepare a variety of small French dishes—samplers that could be passed around and tasted by all. It was a lot of work but she recruited two of her best friends to assist her. For hours the three young women slaved away in the galley. It was well past dark by the time they were finished.

There were not enough crewwomen to sail the ship around the clock. Rolfe knew this would delay the voyage but there was nothing he could do about that. They had to sleep sometime. He reasoned it would be wise to anchor the ship for the night in the calm waters off the northern Florida coast. After he had cut one anchor to make a quick getaway from the pirates, there were two remaining. He tied a spare to the anchor line and dropped it into the sea as the girls were setting up an eating area on deck.

They brought tables and chairs up from the cramped mess deck and arranged them nicely out in the open air. Pocahontas sat to the right of John Rolfe who in turn sat at the head of the table. It turned out that Nicole had gotten involved with Lorraine in the kitchen as she came up carrying bottled beverages and flaunting a pretty new outfit she had made. The expectant group sitting around the elongated table arrangement watched as she strutted on deck and gave a twirl, balancing the tray of bottles in her right hand expertly.

The attire clung safely to the ankles but resembled a dress in the way it whirled around during her spin. There was colorful lace running around the calves and thighs. “It is light and airy on deck. To secure it for a rigging job, simply pull on the lace and tuck into itself like so,” Nicole Lorrise St. Germaine spoke in French, demonstrating. When she tightened the lace, the ‘dress’ came to hug her fine figure yet there was space enough between the legs to allow for mobility and flexibility.

Most of the women jumped up and surrounded Nicole, raving about how they loved the design. Others remained at the table whispering about how scandalous it was. To break up the chaos, Rolfe stood up and cleared his throat. The group fell to silence and looked back at him. “Excellent job, Nicole. You’ve really outdone yourself,” he replied in French, making her flush slightly. Pocahontas glanced around, picking up bits and pieces of what was going on from context. She smiled as everyone returned to their seats.

Nicole rounded the table, pouring wine for whomsoever requested it. As they were on a ship, there were no proper wine glasses which would have been too fragile. But there were mugs enough for everyone. About eight of the girls and John Rolfe accepted the wine. Pocahontas preferred water and one of the girls wanted a small taste of rum. “I am to inform you that the main courses will be out shortly,” Nicole told the group in French as she sat delicately at John Rolfe’s left side and directly across from Pocahontas.

…

The group had erupted into quaint conversation, mostly in French. Fortunately for Pocahontas, John Rolfe was on her left and Louise was on her right so she found herself able to participate with the help of the translators. It seemed the attention of nearly every girl at the table was centered on her. They bombarded her with question after question to the point that John Rolfe had to require them to take turns.

“What is it like to be a princess?”

“I’ve never not been one so I would not know what to compare it to.”

“Do you have servants?”

“Sometimes but I prefer to do things for myself.”

“Have you ever met Captain John Smith, the great explorer?”

“Yes, that’s a long story.”

“What do your people eat?”

“Corn, squash, beans, turkey, and venison among many things.”

“Do you cook them?”

“Yes.”

“How did you manage to tame that wild raccoon?”

“I did not even try. He tamed himself when he started following me around.”

“Have you ever been to China?”

“No, never.”

“Then where did you get that adorable dog? I thought the breed was from China.”

“Percy came over on the first English ship.”

“Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“Yes, seven sisters and thirteen brothers.”

“What is your best friend’s name?”

“Nakoma.”

“What was it like to meet King James and Queen Anne?”

“It was an adventure, to be sure…”

“What is that red marking on your arm?”

“That is my tattoo. I received it at my Huskanasqua when I became a woman. It means that I am eligible for marriage, among other things. When I get married, I will receive a matching tattoo on the other arm. That is our way.”

“What is your necklace made of?”

“A rare stone called turquoise from a land very distant to my own. The lighter beads are wampum, or seashell, and the pendant is a polished oyster shell. The twine is deer sinew. This necklace once belonged to my mother and has been passed on to me.”

And on and on it went. The women were enthused to meet a real ‘Indian’ as the men of St. Augustine had forbade them from venturing outside the settlement. The lives of the natives had been shrouded in mystery for the sheltered ladies of the French settlement and Pocahontas’s presence had opened their eyes. Only two women at the table seemed disinterested, one even a bit resentful of the attention Pocahontas was receiving.

When Lorraine and another girl brought out the first two dishes, an annoyed-looking Nicole used the distraction as an opportunity to switch the topic of the conversation. “So, Captain Rolfe, we’ve heard all about your traveling companion. What of yourself?”

“What of myself?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Have you any brothers or sisters?”

“Oh, yes. But not as many as Pocaho—”

“Are you the eldest?”

Rolfe blinked. “Uh, no. More like the youngest actually.”

“Hm. Father always told me firstborn boys are more dominant but you did a fine job capturing this ship. Really took charge. It must have taken a great deal of courage. I guess I’ll have to question everything Father ever told me from now on,” Nicole said with a wink. Her friend Jacqueline, seated to her left, echoed her laughter and sipped wine.

Rolfe hardly noticed Louise whispering translations to Pocahontas. He felt abashed and somewhat taken aback by Nicole’s declarations. When he collected his wits, he chuckled nervously and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “Oh why, um… Th-thank you, I suppose. Well it is not every day that such a feat is necessary. Frankly I’m just thankful that God saw fit to grant us the opportunity to—”

“Are you married?” Nicole inquired, interrupting.

Everyone at the table froze instantly save Pocahontas who did not know what had been said. She leaned over to a gaping Louise and whispered, _“What? What happened?”_

Nicole flushed after realizing she had been too forward even for a woman of her high social status. “I-I mean that in the most pleasant way of course. I merely wish to learn of your friends and family. As I mentioned earlier, my betrothed was lost to me during the pirate attack,” she recovered, her voice breaking a bit. She sniffled. Jacqueline passed her a handkerchief which she promptly pressed to her nose and turned away from the others.

The faces softened regarding her, especially that of John Rolfe. “Oh yes, that. I’m afraid I must report that my tale has not been much happier in the past. You see, I am a widower.”

Nicole turned back, her expression lighter. “A widower? That is most… awful,” she replied hesitantly, her contented features betraying her words.

She was about to continue but Rolfe stopped her. “I believe this unpleasant topic should wait until the vigil when it would be more appropriate. For now let us keep to subjects of merriment, shall we?” The women seated around the table nodded in agreement and Nicole lightly chewed on her lower lip. Rolfe did not fail to notice.

He rose to his feet and momentarily went below deck, reemerging with a gilded Celtic harp. “I found this little treasure in the captain’s quarters. It’s the only type of instrument I have ever tried to learn though I admit I am a bit rusty. I tuned it earlier and now I wonder if you ladies might like to listen to some music for a pleasanter evening?”

“That would be great!” exclaimed Louise. “I love music.”

Nicole nodded her agreement as did the others. Most of the girls seemed enthused about the prospect of having something nice to listen to. When Louise translated what Rolfe had said for Pocahontas, her eyes widened. “You can make music, John?”

“A little bit, yes. I’m out of practice but there is one song I remember quite well. The title is something in Romanian that I can’t pronounce but it sounds quite lovely,” Rolfe said, sitting down with the instrument placed between his knees. He played all the strings in a row, bringing the most angelic of sounds to Pocahontas’s ears.

“That’s pretty!” Pocahontas lauded. Rolfe smiled at her and began to play. The song was an idyllic piece that brought visions of green pastures to Pocahontas’s mind. When the music ended, the girls at the table all clapped. For a second time, the applause surprised Pocahontas as she had nearly forgotten about the Hunt Ball. She followed the other women’s examples and clapped too. Clapping was not a Powhatan custom but she found it a very interesting way to give praise for a worthy performance. “You must start practicing again. I would like to hear more music in the future.”

“Very well, my love,” Rolfe agreed.

Nicole raised her hand shyly. “I do not mean to brag but I have been known to play the harp as well on social occasions. Father always had me play when we had guests.”

Rolfe handed the harp over to Nicole. “Your turn then. Entertain us, mademoiselle.”

…

After the music was over and the dishes put away, the vigil started. It was a beautiful ceremony. Rolfe had the ship anchored near the shore. With no wind coming from the sea, each girl held a lighted candle as John Rolfe gave an introductory speech on the nature of loss. Then some girls took turns to say a few words of their own. Finally they blew the candles out and dropped them into the water as a sign of closure on the matter.

Once the observance was over, everyone stayed up for another hour just to talk. Nicole once again struck up a conversation with John Rolfe, one which Pocahontas could overhear but not understand. She had Louise whisper translations in her ear. Somehow the conversation went from oil paintings to the nature of God to Parisian fashion. Rolfe was a rather avid lover of fashion as he showed a passion for it to rival Nicole’s.

“Speaking of which, I think you simply must choose an elegant name for your design,” John Rolfe chimed, gesturing to the dress Nicole was wearing.

She glanced down at her attire. “Oh! Yes, of course. Hm, I’ll have to think that one over…” she replied, lightly rubbing her chin. “Also I think you ought to name your ship, Captain Rolfe. I shouldn’t like to think the girls and I are aboard the _Blood Draw_. Ugh, what a hideous name! Heaven willing, there will be no more bloodshed.”

The women nodded in agreement around the table and Rolfe’s eyes widened. “My ship? I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

“You are the captain. As such, you’re most qualified,” Nicole replied. John Rolfe lightly scratched his chin as he glanced around the deck, considering the proposition. Nicole leaned over to him lithely. “I’ll give you a hint. It is commonly considered bad luck to name a ship after a male.” She winked at him and sat back leisurely in her chair. Taking note of Nicole’s demeanor, Pocahontas narrowed her eyes slightly.

“And as we all know, French names are the loveliest. Our tongue is not so much a language as an art form,” Jacqueline added.

John Rolfe casually raised a brow at them. “If this is my ship, I suppose none of you ladies would care what I do with it after this voyage is over?”

“Course not,” Nicole and Jacqueline replied in unison. All the other French women echoed the sentiment with nods of agreement.

John Rolfe smacked the tabletop, causing the girls to jolt in surprise—Pocahontas included. He abruptly jumped out of his seat and darted over to the railing, highly enthused about the prospect. “I’ve got it! I’ve got the perfect name and destiny for this ship. Mademoiselle Nicole, toss me that empty wine bottle if you don’t mind.”

Nicole smiled enthusiastically as she granted his wish and he easily caught the dark green bottle in one hand before it could fall over the bow of the ship. “Louise, if you could please translate my words for Pocahontas,” he requested with a flourishing gesture. He climbed up on the railing, holding on to a line to avoid falling over. Pocahontas looked nervous at the act but he seemed pretty stable on his feet.

Rolfe cleared his throat and held up the empty bottle. “In the name of the English, French, and Powhatan nations, I hereby christen this ship the _Princess Pocahontas_!” He pointed the bottle at Pocahontas and then shattered it off the bow. The shards of glass fell safely into the calm dark waters below as the female crew sat in stunned silence.

John Rolfe hopped down from the rail. “And just like that, the _Blood Draw_ is no more! I’ll not hear another mention of the dreadful name. I’ll scrape the old paint off the ship first thing on the morrow. We’ll tear the pirate flag to shreds and I’ll commission you, Mademoiselle Nicole, to sew either a French flag or an English flag—or both. Should we meet any other ships, we’ll want them to know that we are legit from a distance so they won’t break out the cannons on us,” he proudly announced.

Nicole sat is stunned silence though most of the women were enthused about the ship’s new name. Louise translated for Pocahontas and she placed a hand to her chest. “You want to name this ship after me, John?” she inquired of Rolfe.

Rolfe strolled back to his seating, smiling proudly at her. “Yes. In fact I just did. Isn’t it perfect, Pocahontas? I can present this ship and all the treasures it possesses to your father for your bride-wealth.” He walked over to the railing again, observing the chipped wood, and blushed slightly as he glanced back at her. “Not in its current condition, of course. I shall have the vessel fixed up first and painted anew.”

Pocahontas gasped and Louise quickly noticed. The French woman raised a brow and looked back at John Rolfe. “Monsieur Rolfe?” Louise murmured, not wanting to interrupt. “May I ask what is bride-wealth? So I can translate for my friends?”

Rolfe’s eyes fell on Louise and he chuckled kindly. “Care to explain, Pocahontas? Bride-wealth is a custom of Pocahontas’s people. She has told me much of Powhatan customs over the past few months. Bride-wealth is among them. Think of it like a reverse dowry.”

Pocahontas nodded and turned to Louise. “Bride-wealth is a gift given to the parents of a woman by a suitor to demonstrate the value he places upon her. If the bride-wealth is insufficient, the parents will often not give consent for the marriage.” She turned to Rolfe. “But this ship will be far more than any bride-wealth I have ever heard of!”

Rolfe slid back over to her and into his seat. He took one of her hands in his. “It is nothing compared to my love for you. To equal that I’d have to harvest the moon and stars themselves for your father,” he replied, kissing her hand.

Pocahontas felt her heart flutter as she gazed deeply into his eyes. They leaned toward each other for a kiss but the moment was shortly broken by Louise’s loud inquisition. “You two are to wed?!” she cried out in surprise.

Pocahontas and Rolfe jolted slightly at Louise’s outburst but they soon nodded in reply. “If her father will consent, then yes,” John Rolfe explained.

“Why did you not mention anything before?” Louise interrogated.

Pocahontas and Rolfe shrugged and then replied in unison, “No one asked.”

Louise fanned herself excitedly as she turned to her curious companions and provided the translation of all that had transpired. “Isn’t it romantic?” she finished enthusiastically, clasping her hands together. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she fainted. Fortunately a friend was there to catch her before she fell.

The table was in a sudden uproar. Excitement, shock, and curiosity were the primary emotions all around. Rolfe tried to calm the French women down and answer as many questions as he could but he was beginning to get tired from the long exciting day. Pocahontas was already slipping off into slumberland and Rolfe did not fail to notice. “Ladies, ladies! If you please, Pocahontas and I would like to retire for the night. There will be plenty of time for storytelling and such over the course of the voyage. Now show me to the cabin you’ve fixed up for Pocahontas, please,” he beseeched in French, pulling Pocahontas into his arms as he rose from his seat. He hefted her up bridal style.

“This way, Monsieur Rolfe,” Nicole replied. She showed them and their animal friends down to what was likely the first mate’s cabin previously on the ship and helped John Rolfe tuck Pocahontas into bed. Before she left, she turned to Rolfe and said, “Good night, monsieur. Thank you for saving our lives. We’ll never forget what you’ve done for us.” Blushing, she blew him a kiss and then left.

Rolfe’s face reddened slightly too but more in confusion. He glanced down at Meeko, Percy, and Flit and gave off some nervous laughter at the looks on their faces. “I-I think f-for the French, it’s just a friendly gesture,” he explained. He reached down and lifted Percy up onto the mattress so the pug could sleep with the others. Meeko was already curled up at Pocahontas’s side with Flit nestled on top of him. “Good night, boys,” Rolfe said, giving Meeko a scratch behind the ears and Percy a pat on the head. With that, he blew out the only candle in the room and left.

Sleep was easy to find for John Rolfe that night. For the first time in weeks, he had not a worry or care. When the next day dawned, he was the first person on the ship to rise. Dressed in his usual best, he went to gently awaken the crew. Lorraine quickly set about making everyone breakfast as the crew raised the anchor and prepared the ship to continue the journey. Rolfe did not wake Pocahontas and the animals up until breakfast was ready. He had the crew eat in shifts so the ship was always tended to.

Nicole was not pleased to be placed at the helm as Rolfe enjoyed a leisurely breakfast with Pocahontas and her critters down on deck. More than once, Pocahontas noticed the woman’s eyes were on Rolfe and she was beginning to feel slightly resentful. The urge suddenly hit her to take Rolfe’s hand and kiss it and so she did. Leaning toward him with his hand still in hers, Pocahontas whispered, _“You have the most beautiful eyes, John.”_

John Rolfe blushed terribly at the declaration at first but then cleared his throat, trying to regain some control over his complexion. “Why… thank you, Pocahontas. But you’re one to talk, you’ve got the most mesmerizing pair of eyes I’ve ever seen,” he replied, flashing her an amorous look before he leaned in to kiss her.

As they kissed, John Rolfe closed his eyes. Pocahontas on the other hand glanced up to see the look on Nicole’s face. It was not a happy one which pleased the Powhatan woman to no end. She did not let the satisfaction show on her face though and pretended not to care or notice. Meeko and Percy, for love of food, were oblivious to the events passing before their very eyes. However Flit took note of each and every subtlety and change of expression with concern. It was not long before Louise showed up with Pocahontas’s buckskin dress and trousers. “All clean!” she declared.

“Great!” Pocahontas replied, accepting the items. “I’d like to change back now.”

“I’ll take you to your cabin, love,” John Rolfe offered, lifting her up out of the chair. Meeko, Flit, and Percy followed them down.

Louise stayed on deck cleaning up the table that Pocahontas and Rolfe had been sitting at. When she finished, she walked up to where Nicole was. “Your turn to take breakfast, Nicole. I would be happy to take the helm for you if you would like?”

 _“It’s disgusting,”_ Nicole muttered under her breath.

Though Louise did not understand her mumbling, she took note of the livid look on her face. “Is something wrong, my friend?” she inquired.

Nicole snapped her head to look at Louise. “He shouldn’t be marrying her. There’s a reason cats don’t breed with dogs. It’s against the laws of nature. A man of his standing… he should know better than to marry a heathen and so far below himself at that.”

Louise blinked. “I beg your pardon, below him? Pocahontas is a princess.”

“Ha! You can’t compare redskin royalty to white royalty. She’s nothing compared to the Dauphin de France.” Nicole paused to think for a moment. “She must have him under some kind of spell, that’s the only explanation. She’s a witch!”

Louise gasped and put a hand over Nicole’s mouth. “Don’t say such things! If your accusation is false you could endanger the life of an innocent woman.”

Nicole forcibly removed her hand. “And if it’s true?”

“I don’t see how it could possibly be. I’m not even sure that witches really exist. I don’t know about you but I’ve certainly never met one,” Louise argued.

Nicole gave her a look of skepticism. “Maybe you have and you just don’t know it.”

“Impossible!”

“Don’t be so sure,” Nicole replied, beckoning Louise to the helm. “I’m off to take breakfast. Don’t say anything about this to them! Just keep an eye on her. You’ll see. There’s something off about that woman…” With that, Nicole disappeared down below and left Louise by herself to ponder everything the blonde had told her.

Twenty minutes later Rolfe and Pocahontas returned to the open deck, Pocahontas back in her previous attire with her short hair loose. She used crutches to move around the lower deck. Her animal friends followed her over to the starboard side where she put her crutches down and used the railing to lean over and look into the sparkling water.

Louise was startled when John Rolfe showed up at the helm. “Smooth sailing, first mate. Why don’t I take the helm so you can go work on the riggings. The wind’s picking up and we need someone to unfurl the topsails.”

“Oui, captain. I’ll hop to it,” she replied, allowing him to take the wheel. She hesitated before leaving to climb the mast. “Monsieur?”

“Yes, Mademoiselle Louise?”

Louise glanced down the lower deck at Pocahontas. “I was just wondering… how come Princess Pocahontas chooses to dress like that when there are beautiful dresses on this ship she could wear?” she inquired nervously. “It just seems a little odd.”

“Oh? It’s not odd at all. That’s how her people dress, save for the trousers. Not sure why she’s still wearing those but I’m glad of it because I’d be afraid she might trip limping around lower deck with crutches in a long dress,” Rolfe replied, flashing Louise a smile. He seemed to think the inquiry innocent enough.

Louise hesitantly nodded, seeming to accept the answer, and descended the stairs to carry out her next duties. The day went by smoothly though there was some light drizzling rain in the evening. It did not last long and everything was dry again by the time everyone anchored the ship and went to bed. Two more days went by much the same—uneventful and with good weather always on the horizon.

…

Catching up to the ship was not so easy as Adahy had hoped it would be. The crew had turned out to be competent as the ship was able to sail much faster than Adahy’s pathetic little dinghy. And even he had had to stop and rest at night. Good news was that Adahy’s sword hand had nearly grown back entirely. It just lacked skin and the final phalange on the pinky finger. Fortunately for him, he was able to stay well ahead of the pirate crew.

The demon was growing desperate. Finally it appealed to Adahy that more extreme measures were necessary. They were going to have to summon a storm demon and send it north to intercept the ship. Such a venture would be no small feat. Adahy would need several human sacrifices for the ceremony. Fortunately he knew just where to get them. He brought the boat into shore and hid it in some loose mangroves. Kelele, he ordered to go hunt while Adahy himself climbed up the tallest palm tree he could find using mostly his legs and his one good arm. He made a sort of nest in the dense fronds on top. The view was panoramic and it kept him mostly hidden from view.

It was from this vantage point that he watched and waited for hours. It was not until some time after dusk that the crew appeared on the southern horizon, rowing along in their makeshift rafts which were surprisingly well-constructed given the lack of tools they had. He grinned devilishly and waited for them to pass. To his delight, they came to a stop some ways down the coastline where there was a beach. It turned out to be no more than half a mile from Adahy’s location. In the black of night, he crept down from his perch and hiked toward where the crew had chosen to make camp for the night.


	10. Wicked Deeds

****Adahy took to observing the marooned crew from a distance as they sat around their campfire talking. They seemed weary and discouraged—which Adahy himself found very encouraging. The demon blade indicated that the sea conditions were not right for the ritual yet. There was not enough wind. While both hated having to wait, that is just what they did. Adahy returned to his well-hidden dinghy and curled up by Kelele’s side, using the few short hours to sleep.

He rose before dawn, coming to observe the crew from the mangroves to the south as the men departed on their rafts. He waited until they disappeared on the horizon to follow in his own boat with Kelele drooling over the bow. The wind picked up with the dawn—which frustrated Adahy to no end—and whipped the canine’s ears around. The ritual would have to be performed at night. With any luck, the next night would be windier. He stalked the pirate crew all through the day, staying a good distance behind them to prevent them from seeing him.

…

“She keeps him on a tight leash, it seems,” Nicole whispered. “I mean, they’re always together. I think she suspects—she suspects that I know her secret. The way she flaunts him…”

Jacqueline shook her head in disapproval. “You haven’t done a very good job of looking ignorant, that’s for sure. But I don’t think it’s too late. Why don’t you try to talk to Pocahontas and strike up a friendship? You know what they say about keeping friends close and enemies closer… If she trusts you, she won’t suspect that you have your eye on her gentleman.”

“He’s not her gentleman! He’s not even her _kind_ ,” Nicole snapped. “I just want to see if I can free him from her mind control somehow. I need to talk to him… alone. Can you distract her?”

Jacqueline looked perturbed. “I don’t speak her language. How could I distract her?”

“Get Louise to translate for you but don’t clue Louise into the plan,” Nicole instructed. “I’m not sure she can be trusted. She didn’t seem to believe me when I told her the woman was a witch.”

Jacqueline concurred, “Okay, I’ll try. I sure hope you know what you’re doing, Nicole!”

“If talking reason into him doesn’t work, I know something else that almost certainly will. Trust me, I read it in a book,” Nicole countered. “We’re going to do this after dinner. I want you to talk to Pocahontas anywhere that’s away from Rolfe’s cabin. You can do it in her cabin, on deck, or even in the brig for all I care. Just don’t come near the captain’s quarters.”

Jacqueline nodded her agreement.

“I need to get back to work. Go see if anything is needed up on deck,” Nicole instructed.

Both girls blew out their candles as they walked out of the hold and headed upstairs. Nicole returned to her own small cabin and Jacqueline headed for the helm to relieve Rolfe from steering duty. The sun leaned in the sky just past midday. Lunches had been eaten about an hour prior. When Jacqueline found Rolfe, he was naturally chatting with Pocahontas.

“I just want to be there already. I’m so tired of being on a boat,” Rolfe griped to his nodding companion. “I swear, Pocahontas, once we get to Virginia I am never going to set foot on a ship again if I can help it, by God!” He paused when he noticed Jacqueline and kindly tipped his hat to her, speaking in French, “Good afternoon, mademoiselle.”

He stepped aside and allowed her to take the wheel as she greeted him with a nod of her head. “Monsieur, I was wondering if Pocahontas would like to hear some stories tonight after dinner. I could get Louise to translate if you don’t want to… Pocahontas seems like the kind of lady who likes to listen to stories,” Jacqueline proposed with a smile that only looked natural.

John Rolfe smiled. “Not at all! I’d love to listen to your stories, mademoiselle, and I certainly don’t mind translating,” he countered, causing Jacqueline to look hesitant.

“Right, well… If for whatever reason you aren’t available, Louise can take your place naturally.”

Rolfe turned and translated Jacqueline’s offer for Pocahontas, causing the Powhatan woman’s eyes to light up. “I would love to! We can even exchange stories if you’d like.”

John Rolfe translated for Jacqueline this time. Jacqueline only nodded and flashed Pocahontas an innocent-looking smile. “Tell her I’ll meet her in the berthing quarters after supper then.”

He turned to Pocahontas. “She’ll meet us in the berthing quarters after supper, love,” he said. “Should be a good time. Who knows? Maybe she’ll tell stories from France.”

Pocahontas looked thoughtful. “Have you been to France, John?”

Rolfe flashed a grin. “Of course! That’s where I learned the language. Mum and Dad sent me to school in Paris for two years when I was younger and since then King James always gave me the occasional diplomatic mission to France. Keeping an alliance between two nations as large as ours is not easy. It requires a great deal of diplomacy and commitment,” he expressed.

Jacqueline seemed to tune out as the couple went back to conversing in English, focusing her attentions on the open seas ahead. Rolfe gestured down the stairs to Pocahontas. “Let’s move on to lower deck. I need to check on a few things,” he offered. Pocahontas rose from the seat she was occupying. She grabbed her crutches and handed them to John, making her way down the stairs with the help of the bannister and Rolfe’s free hand. “Nice and easy, love,” he said, returning the crutches once they reached the deck. “How’s the ankle feeling today?”

“The swelling has gone down,” Pocahontas replied, taking her crutches and moving over to the railing to look out over the open seas. While she was beginning to get sick of the sight of the ocean, she still managed to enjoy the wind blowing through her hair—short as it was.

Rolfe gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Be right back, my dear.” He went to check on some lines to see that they were pulled tight enough, shouted up something in French to Simone at the riggings, and then returned to Pocahontas’s side. “So you want to know more about my time in France?” he inquired. “Last time I was there was about two years ago.”

Pocahontas hesitated as a thought came to mind. “Actually there’s something else I want to know more about. We can save the tales of France for tonight with Jacqueline,” she proposed.

Rolfe leaned one elbow on the railing to Pocahontas’s left, getting comfortable. “Alright, dear. What did you want to know?” he inquired just as Meeko and Flit appeared from below deck. The latter perched on Pocahontas’s shoulder, looking slightly sleepy. Meeko on the other hand climbed up Rolfe’s body to get to his shoulder. “Ow, ow, ouch! Meeko, easy with the claws!” Rolfe griped. He laughed nervously to Pocahontas. “I don’t think your friend understands the difference between tree bark and human flesh. Reminds me of a cat I once owned,” he joked.

Pocahontas giggled. “Indeed he doesn’t. I’ve gotten used to the scratches. Anyway I’ve been wanting to ask you this for a while. I remember you told me about Sarah after we left the London port but you didn’t offer any details. I want to know more about her. I would have asked before but I felt like I didn’t know you well enough then and I would be invading your privacy.”

“My late wife?” John Rolfe inquired, raising a brow. “Oh, she was a wonderful lady. You two would’ve been fast friends were she still alive,” he sighed. “She always kept an open mind, more so than myself. And she absolutely _despised_ bear-baiting.”

Pocahontas perked up. “She sounds great! What did she look like?”

Again he sighed in a dreamy manner as he reminisced, turning his gaze to the open sea. “Bright blue eyes, almost turquoise. Hair the color of white gold. I remember it fell in natural ringlets around her shoulders, utterly stunning. She was a small woman though. Perhaps an inch or two shorter than you, my dear. And with narrow hips which is why…” he paused suddenly, falling silent as a look of torment overcame his features. Pocahontas noticed he was avoiding eye contact. Meeko and Flit looked concerned at the change in the man’s demeanor as well.

“John?” Pocahontas murmured.

He sighed deeply. “It’s not something I like to recollect,” he finally admitted as Meeko crawled down into his arms affectionately. Rolfe willingly held the animal and began to stroke him as Meeko cooed sadly up at him. Rolfe gave a small chuckle at Meeko’s sympathetic expression.

Pocahontas frowned. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to share if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s not that,” John Rolfe said, shaking his head. He turned around to face in the opposite direction, leaning his backside against the railing as he continued to hold Meeko in his arms and pet him. “I don’t mind sharing. The part I mind is having to think about it. But… Oh, it’s ridiculous. I should just get over it. It’s been over three years.”

Flit gave a small squeak of dissent. “I mourned John Smith’s death for five years,” Pocahontas countered, lightly touching John Rolfe’s left hand with hers—the same hand that scratched Meeko behind the ears. Meeko seemed to slump into Rolfe’s embrace until Lorraine appeared on deck wrapped in an apron with a batch of freshly-baked cookies. She went to offer Jacqueline one and Meeko hopped down to the deck in fast pursuit.

Hardly taking note of the animal’s disappearance, Rolfe almost scoffed. “Five years, is it? And in all that time he wasn’t able to finish a single letter to end your grief?” he inquired in an almost skeptical tone. “If only Sarah was secretly alive somewhere. But I know that’s impossible. I saw her die, I saw her go into the ground. Short of a divine miracle, there’s no way she could be alive. Plus I know for a fact she would write to me if she could.”

“He said he started a thousand letters. But no… for some reason he couldn’t finish one. I wish I knew why,” Pocahontas added, shaking her head as she copied Rolfe’s position and leaned her backside against the railing. “Sometimes I think he didn’t love me as much as he said he did.”

Rolfe pursed his lips. “That’s not necessarily true,” he countered. “He could just be the type of fellow with his head in the clouds, you know? Some people can love deeply but they lack the social skills to maintain that love, to nurture it. As an unfortunate side effect, it can make their loved ones feel unloved and break down their relationships. I’ve known men like that. They always seem to long for something so deeply and constantly be in search of it, never to find it. It makes me feel terrible for them. To me, that all seems like a hellish existence.”

Pocahontas nodded slowly and gently took John Rolfe’s left hand in hers. “You’re right. I should not be so harsh on him. He did seem the way you describe once. I remember…” she recounted, biting her bottom lip in sorrow. “We were sitting under a tree when I asked John Smith if he would go back home since there was no gold to be found in my homeland. I wanted him to stay. But he said to me, ‘Well it’s not like I have much of a home to go back to. I’ve never really belonged anywhere.’ It made me wonder… What of his friends and family?”

John Rolfe frowned. “Poor Smith. I don’t know the state of his current faith but I suspect he might feel better if he tried strengthening his relationship with God. I know for a fact that I owe my own happiness to God. He did bring you and I together after all.”

Pocahontas smiled sweetly. “Yes, it is clear now that John Smith and I were not meant to be.” She paused and continued on the previous topic, “Will you tell me what happened to Sarah?”

Rolfe squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a breath. “It was my fault. I should have known better.” After a moment’s silence he opened his eyes and looked down at the deck. “It was my fault because… I got her pregnant. She didn’t survive the labor.”

Pocahontas blinked in surprise at the new information, wanting to inquire about the state of the child. But she felt more duty-bound to see to Rolfe’s psychological wellbeing first. She shook her head madly. “And you think you could’ve possibly foreseen that, John?”

He turned to her. “Yes, Pocahontas. I think I could have had I not been so naive. What I thought was, ‘Oh, God designed women so perfectly. They were made to carry babies. Of course she’ll be perfectly fine!’ But she wasn’t. And I should’ve been able to tell! She was such a petite woman with such narrow hips. My father’s family is known for having large, heavy newborns. I was bigger than the average child when I came out as was my twin brother! Do you know how unlikely that is? We nearly killed our mum. And by God my daughter would’ve been about the same size had she survived!” he exclaimed, his tongue moving faster and faster as he spoke. He had even begun to pace which worried Pocahontas. “But she didn’t make it out.”

Pocahontas frowned to discover the answer to her question rather tragic. “John, it’s still not your fault,” she insisted. “Did Sarah want a child?”

John Rolfe stopped pacing and glanced at her. “Yes, of course. She insisted on it. It was I who failed to challenge her,” he expressed.

That was all Pocahontas needed to know as far as she was concerned. “John. If a woman wants a baby and her husband won’t give her one, the marriage is doomed from the start. I guarantee it.”

He sighed indignantly, withdrawing his left hand to cross his arms over his chest. “Better our marriage had failed than she had died from a condition caused by me.”

Pocahontas placed her hands down on the railing behind her. Though she wanted to embrace the man she loved, she felt he needed some space for the moment. “John, I promise you it wasn’t your fault. You need to let the guilt go. The sense of loss can remain but the guilt is undeserved. You can’t heal if you continue to blame yourself.”

Pocahontas watched as Rolfe began to wring his hands together, not meeting her gaze. “How can I?!” he blurted after a moment’s silence, launching himself back into a fast pace. It worried Pocahontas greatly. “I saw everything!” he proclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. “She asked me to come in and hold her hand. She wanted me to be there to comfort her despite the midwife’s protestations. It was a full night and then the next day. She suffered greatly but made no progress. I had to watch as her screams grew weary and her skin sallow. She was running out of life. By God, there was so much blood! I had no idea the human body even contained that much blood. It was everywhere, over the linen and soaking through the mattress!”

Pocahontas frowned at the image though it did not surprise her. When she was twelve, she had come in to comfort her mother during the birth of two younger fraternal twin brothers. There had been a great deal of blood and her mother had nearly died although in the end the Great Spirit had seen fit to give the noble woman a few more years still. “John, the human body contains a ridiculous amount of blood. Just ask any of the warriors in my village who’ve been to battle. Don’t you remember when you beheaded one of the pirates saving me? It was a blood fountain!”

John Rolfe stopped and shuddered. “Pocahontas, please don’t make me recall that. I had never killed anyone before and God forbid I ever be forced to again.”

“Those men selected their own fate when they made the decision to try to hurt me,” Pocahontas asserted. She took John Rolfe by the shoulders and forced him to turn to her. Balancing on one foot, she used his body for support instead of the railing. Dark brown eyes met green ones and Rolfe looked perturbed at Pocahontas’s boldness. He was too shocked to say anything at first. “Everything happens for a reason. You know that. Fate is fate.”

John Rolfe frowned, having nothing to counter that truth with. “I know. It’s just…” he began weakly, unable to finish the sentence once he had started. He stood there dumbly staring down at the deck with a look of depression over his whole being.

Pocahontas shook her head. “Just nothing. The first thing you need to do is accept that you had no control over what happened. You know the truth, you’re just refusing to accept it.”

Rolfe gently glanced up at Pocahontas as he moved his hands to her hips to help her balance. They were definitely wider than Sarah’s had been. It was an encouraging sign. Pocahontas truly was a robust woman compared to almost all women of English descent that he knew. He would be less likely to lose her to natural causes so long as he did not fail to protect her from the all other dangers in the world. “I’ll try to accept it,” he said with a soft smile.

Flit flew up from Pocahontas’s shoulder and chirped happily at Rolfe. Pocahontas smiled back at the Englishman and his heart melted as they leaned in for a kiss, much to the bird’s contentment. They pulled back a moment later when both heard the sound of someone clearing her throat.

John Rolfe, Pocahontas, and Flit looked to the side to find a grinning Nicole holding up a big English flag. Rolfe’s eyes widened. “How did you manage to finish it so quickly, mademoiselle? I’m very impressed!” he lauded, leaning Pocahontas against the railing so he could hold the flag.

“I recruited a few girls to help me sew it when they were off-duty,” she replied. “I’m glad you like it, monsieur. I’ve already disposed of the skull and crossbones one.”

Pocahontas picked up her crutches and admired the needlework along with Rolfe. “That reminds me,” she said. “Have you scraped off the paint on the ship yet, John?”

“Oh dear, I nearly forgot!” Rolfe replied. “Thanks for reminding me, love. I’ll get right to it.”

He turned back to Nicole and returned the flag to her. “Put it on the pole. I’ll go ahead and get to work on the paint,” he told her in French, heading down to the hold to collect some supplies.

Rolfe had finished the job of scraping the _Blood Draw_ paint off the ship’s sides by nightfall. He decided that painting the new title would have to wait until Jamestown. They needed to focus their energies on getting home. He used the rope and pulley to raise up the platform he was seated on for the job. Reaching the railing, he climbed over just in time for supper.

…

By sundown Adahy had noticed a flickering light in the sparse woods up ahead. He brought the dinghy into the shore. The wind had calmed at the day’s end but Adahy came to the conclusion that he must be prepared for the ritual anytime the opportunity might arise. Adahy snuck up and found the pirates’ encampment before the dark had completely fallen. Once asleep, they would be sitting ducks. Adahy decided to collect all the other supplies for the ritual first. Then he would be back to collect the human element in the dead of night. Hopefully they would be asleep by the time he returned. The demon insisted that he waste no time in this new endeavor. There was a short list of things Adahy would need for the summoning.

For one, the heart of a ravenous sea creature. That one he thought would be the hardest item to procure. However he was almost ecstatic when after a few minutes of beach exploration he came upon a dead beached hammerhead shark about a mile north of the pirate crew. It was only just beginning to rot. Adahy flipped out the demon blade and cut into the carcass. All he had was moonlight to see but his knowledge of butchering prey helped him to quickly find the heart. He yanked it out of the chest cavity and used the blade to slice through the blood vessels adhering it to the body. Blood only oozed a little from the severed veins and arteries. He shook it out and dropped it into the burlap sack hanging from his waistband. He would have to dig in the sand for what he sought next—a seashell abandoned by its last invertebrate resident. He would also need a raft other than his own cock boat for he needed the dinghy to travel.

Fortunately he would not have to build one. He realized the pirates had done it for him. They had foolishly left their makeshift rafts unattended on the beach out of view of the camp, giving Adahy the perfect opportunity to steal one. He snatched the largest one and dragged it down into the water, floating it a mile or two down the coast so he could do the ritual in relative privacy without waking the crew. He felt more determined as the wind picked up again despite the darkness. Upon the raft he built up a tall stack of dry driftwood, palm fronds, and other kindling for a bonfire. The chore took about five hours with his one hand. Another hour was required to collect all the supplies for the ritual save the sacrifices. That was his final task. By the time he got back to the pirates’ encampment, the fire was out and the crewmen were fast asleep. It was perfect. Conditions were ripe for the ritual to take place. He slit the throats of five members of the crew—Jack Foul, Quicksilver Owen, Raw Garret, Sticky Fingers Phil, and Rattle John being his least favorite among them. One by one he dragged the corpses down to the beach and loaded them into his dinghy. Kelele began to sniff at them curiously.

He gave the dog a pat and told him to stay put as he pushed the small boat out onto the dark water again. Sunrise would be in only a couple hours and the ritual needed to be completed under the veil of darkness. He would have to hurry. Once he reached the location where he had left the raft, he set the corpses on the wood pile and lit it with his flint and steel. It did not take long for the whipping wind to make the dry stuff burst into flame. The foul scent of burning flesh filled the air but the wind picked up more and blew it northward as the ritual had just begun. The demon blade dictated to Adahy the proper chant as he slowly pushed the burning raft out onto the deep dark water. Just as the current took hold of the raft, he withdrew to the shore and followed along. As he reached the final words of the chant he pulled the shark heart out of the burlap sack and expertly threw it onto the raft which had drifted nearly thirty feet away.

The moment the item hit the fire, an angry red whirlwind erupted from the top of the bonfire and reached outward and inland toward Adahy. **“You have summoned the Storm Demon of Mahalkrak,”** it declared in a series of hellish voices mixed into one. Kelele yelped and ran into the nearby forest to hide from the behemoth. A terrifying face appeared in the vortex and glared out at Adahy. **“What have you to offer me?”**

 _Give him the seashell first,_ instructed the blade. _Followed by the handful of sand, the drinking skin filled with saltwater, the driftwood and the live oyster._

Adahy did as told by throwing the items into the vortex one by one. The storm demon greedily devoured them. With the offerings from the sea it began to grow rapidly, spewing massive storm clouds into the sky above and obscuring the moon and stars. The face roared, **“You may give me one command and I will obey it. What do you wish of me, mortal?”**

“Travel north along the coast, find the _Blood Draw_ , and run it into the beach so it may be stuck on land where I will find it,” Adahy called out over the storm winds.

Rain fell heavily from the thundering dark sky and the ocean waves grew violent. **“If the _Blood Draw_ is found, it will be done!”** declared the supernatural beast. The whirlwind face evaporated as the storm rapidly blew itself north. Adahy watched the thunder and lightning disappear on the northern horizon, leaving a calmer sea and clearer sky in its wake. The wind whipped lightly.

The Copichican grinned darkly. “Excellent…” He called Kelele back from the forest and jumped into the dinghy with the canine, letting the current carry them northward in the storm’s wake.

…

The crew rose at dawn to find five of their men missing. Spike-Eyes, Françoise, and a few other men were sent to search but as the sky lightened, the bosun identified what looked like blood on the ground in several places around the camp and trails leading down to the beach where it looked like bodies had been dragged. When the bosun made this known to Flame, the captain called back the crew and they followed the trails down to the water where they disappeared into the surf. There were bootprints as well. “What on earth?” Flame declared, discombobulated. “Did some predatory merfolk take them? I thought such things were but myth.”

“Do merfolk wear boots when they come on land?” Patch Fiddick inquired.

The whole crew was just as stumped. “Captain, one of the rafts is missing!” Spike-Eyes shouted from up the beach. Flame went to investigate and found another trail where the makeshift vessel had been dragged into the water along with bootprints.

“Perhaps vicious sea dwellers had nothing to do with it…” Flame considered. “Hurry, men. If we set off now, we just might catch up to the perpetrator!”

The men went about packing up supplies. Fortunately due to the loss of five men the crew was able to crowd onto the remaining rafts. It was clear that the captain was immensely frustrated though he was too entrenched in the mystery of the missing men to lash out at others. The bosun found it rather unsettling to find Flame brooding at the front of the raft as the men rowed along.

Before long they came upon another mystery. The mangroves and palm trees on the shore appeared to have been torn apart as if by some massive storm. The foliage was shredded. Some trees had fallen. The devastation continued as they rowed along, with no end in sight. Meanwhile others whispered among themselves. Rumors of angry spirits and treachery abounded.

The sun was approaching midday when the crew came upon something that caught their attention. It appeared to be a burnt out pile of sticks lying on the beach at first. At Flame’s command, the rafts paddled to shore to investigate. The bosun was the first to identify it as the missing raft. It took some digging but charred human remains were found among the debris. Flame addressed the crew. “My good fellows, methinks it was blood-thirsty savages responsible. It is not unheard of for savages to wear boots of their own making. Resourceful little devils, they are,” he theorized. “From now on, someone will have to stay awake whilst the others sleep at night. We can prevent this from happening to the rest of us if we’re watchful.” The crewmen again whispered among themselves fearfully as Flame ordered them back into the rafts.

The Irishman grew concerned about the nature of some of the rumors as they continued their journey but by this time he was too worried about other factors to give them full consideration. The crew was running out of food and he doubted hunting would be able to provide enough for all the men. Some other solution had to be found and Flame spent the next few hours considering the problem. The only possible answer he was able to come up with was to find an Indian village and raid it for food. But how much time would that take away from the pursuit? It troubled him.

With any luck they might find evidence of natives as they travelled north. Flame himself went about the duty of observing the shores with his telescope as the rafts rowed along. He also observed the bright blue skyline over the land for any evidence of fire or smoke signals.

…

It had required some additional plotting but Nicole and Jacqueline came up with a better plan for separating Pocahontas and John Rolfe at the end of the evening meal. The two whispered among themselves at the dinner table as the rest of the crew chattered excitedly in several different conversations. The captain of the ship and his dark-skinned lady friend were likewise thoroughly engaged as they talked and laughed about all the things they were planning to do once they got to Virginia. Pocahontas for one had high hopes that they would not be too late for the Powhatan harvest festival, one of her absolute favorite events of year.

When the meal was drawing to a close, Jacqueline leaned over to Charlotte and whispered in her ear, _“Monsieur Rolfe mentioned to me earlier that he wanted someone to go get the harp from his quarters after dinner. Would you like to do the honors, my friend?”_

Charlotte’s eyes widened a bit and she looked enthused. “Yes, I’d love to! Should I go now?”

Jacqueline nodded and Charlotte hopped up and left. Jacqueline scooted over into Charlotte’s seat which was right next to Louise. Pocahontas in turn was on Louise’s other side. Jacqueline leaned over and whispered into Louise’s ear just low enough that Rolfe could not hear, _“Could you whisper to Pocahontas that I have something I want to show her in the berthing quarters? Girls only! You can come too to help me translate, Lou-Lou.”_

A curious look crossed Louise’s face and she quickly nodded. Pocahontas and John Rolfe were rapidly chatting in English about Powhatan harvest traditions. Rolfe was highly engaged. Just as Nicole saw Louise nod her head, the scheming blonde leaned over to Lorraine and whispered, _“Monsieur Rolfe seems interested in autumn cuisine. You had a garden back in St. Augustine. Why don’t you tell him about it? I’m sure he would be interested.”_

Pocahontas was talking fast and distractedly until Louise tapped her. “Huh?” She fell silent and turned to Louise curiously. Right then Lorraine tapped on Rolfe’s shoulder to get his attention. He jolted in surprise and turned to her. Louise leaned over to whisper in Pocahontas’s ear as Lorraine began talking Rolfe’s ear off about her gardening habits.

Just then Charlotte burst onto the deck with a startled look on her face. “Monsieur Rolfe, you must come see this! I don’t even know how to describe it… Come quick!”

Rolfe jumped up from his seat to look up at a frantic Charlotte, causing Lorraine to lose his attention entirely. Pocahontas nearly turned her attention to the outburst as well but Jacqueline grabbed her hand and started talking loudly to distract her, pulling her along to encourage her to follow. She handed Pocahontas her crutches and lead her and Louise down below.

Meanwhile Rolfe hurried in pursuit of Charlotte, unknowing that Nicole was following swiftly behind him. He burst into his chambers to find Charlotte pointing to his bedspread. He nearly gagged when he caught sight of what was there. A dead fish had been gutted on his white sheets. Its blood had been used to paint a circular insignia in the linen and its various organs had been placed at certain locations where the lines met. Rolfe gasped at the sight, disconcerted beyond belief. “M-Monsieur Rolfe, d-do you know how this got here?” Charlotte stuttered out.

With a hand over his heart in bafflement, John Rolfe quickly shook his head just as there was a knock at the door. Both Rolfe and Charlotte nearly jumped out of their skins and turned to see Nicole come in the door. “Is everything alright? Charlotte, you got me worried when you…” she glanced down at the bedsheets as she entered. “Oh my God! Wh-when did that happen?!” She jumped back in feigned fright, making the sign of the cross over her chest.

“I’ve not a clue but it’s disgusting,” John Rolfe griped, looking confused as ever. “Is this someone’s idea of a prank? Unbelievable!” he declared, throwing his hands up in the air.

Charlotte shrugged and went to collect the linen from the bed. “No worries, monsieur. I will dispose of this for you. I am not so squeamish as some.”

Just as she reached for the bedsheets, Nicole rushed forward and slapped her hand away. “No, no! You mustn’t touch it! Silly girl, don’t you even know what this _is_?” she scolded.

Charlotte drew back worriedly by Rolfe’s side for protection, looking terrified as she held her slapped hand. Rolfe stepped forward. “You know who did this?” he asked Nicole. “Tell me and I’ll be sure the prankster spends a day in the brig!” he demanded, looking rather furious.

“Monsieur Rolfe… you don’t know what this is either, do you?” Nicole inquired in an almost condescending tone as if she deemed him dangerously ignorant.

Rolfe blinked. He glanced down at the dead fish again. “No… What is it?”

Nicole sighed and slapped her forehead. “Monsieur, I think you and I need to have a talk…” she glanced at Charlotte, “alone if you please. Speak of this to no one, Charlotte. This is a matter of deep concern. The last thing we want to do is to cause a panic among the crew.”

Charlotte nodded timidly. She took the hint and walked out, closing the door softly behind her. Rolfe stomped his foot on the floor in anger and pointed furiously to the bed. “I demand to know what this is straightaway and if you have any suspicions regarding who is responsible!”

Nicole gingerly bit her bottom lip, glancing at the bed and then back to Rolfe. She sucked in a breath and took a step toward him. “Monsieur, are you familiar with forms of witchcraft?”

John Rolfe was taken aback at first but then he rapidly shook his head. “What? No, witchcraft… That’s insane. There’s no such thing as witches!” he insisted.

“When is the last time you were in your cabin, monsieur?” Nicole inquired, ignoring his protestations. “I know you are skeptical but… I’m afraid that these things are true and I fear your disbelief puts you in very real danger, John,” she murmured. Taking another cautious step forward, she placed a hand lightly on his chest.

Rolfe raised his brows and pulled the sides of his lips downward, wondering when their relationship had become casual enough to use each other’s first names. While he was skeptical about the witch story, he considered her words. After all Pocahontas had introduced him to new phenomena that he had not previously been aware of. Maybe Nicole was right. “I-I…”

“It’s alright! Whoever the witch is, we must weed her out from the rest of the crew.” Nicole looked at him with deep concern in her eyes. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.” She pushed him slightly until he was forced to take a few steps back. His back just barely touched the wall behind him as Nicole used her free hand to take her cross necklace out from under her top. She held the holy item in her fist and brought it to her heart. Before Rolfe could open his mouth to say anything, she asked again, “When was the last time you were in your cabin? This is a very important tidbit of information. Please John, try to remember.”

Rolfe swallowed nervously and then glanced up and to the side, trying to recollect the whole day. “I-it was this morning, I believe. I’ve been pretty busy with the crew all day.”

Nicole drew back from him and started to pace slowly, thinking. Rolfe relaxed slightly when there was more distance between the two of them. “Hmm… I was below working on the ship’s new flag most of the day. But doesn’t Geneviève Isaacs come in to make your bed each morning after you leave, monsieur?” Nicole inquired, turning to look at him for confirmation.

Rolfe nodded. “Yes but she seems like such a sweet girl…”

Nicole shook her head. “I’m not saying it was her necessarily,” she replied as she went back to pacing. She turned back to look at the ‘cursed’ bed, stopping to sniff the air. “Hm.”

“Hm what?” Rolfe inquired.

Nicole nodded to the fish. “There is not a strong smell. This fish… it is relatively fresh. If it had been there all day it would definitely stink by now,” she determined, pacing again. “Especially given this warm weather.” Suddenly her eyes shot open and she stopped dead in her tracks.

Rolfe almost panicked. “What? What is it?!”

Nicole turned and looked at him with her eyes wide open in revelation. “I j-just remembered something… I was below deck for most of the day but… do you remember after I showed you the flag? You went to scratch off the paint from the sides of the ship.”

Rolfe nodded. “Yes, of course.”

Nicole looked down and pursed her lips. “Well I had gone to adhere the new flag to the pole. I remember I glanced briefly to the upper deck and I saw Mademoiselle Pocahontas and her pets walk into your cabin. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. To be honest, I’m surprised I even remembered that at all! You don’t think…”

Rolfe raised a brow. “You really saw Pocahontas go into my quarters? Hm. I ought to go ask her about it. Perhaps she saw something or might have a clue about this whole matter,” he said, turning to walk toward the exit door. “She’s probably down below exchanging stories with Jacqueline by now. I’ll go find her. You wait here, mademoiselle.”

Nicole jumped in front of him, blocking his way. “Wait, please! I’m afraid you’ll endanger yourself if you approach that woman. What if it’s her? We must be careful! John, please consider the evidence,” she insisted, reaching back and locking the door behind her.

Rolfe froze in an instant. Slowly his brows drew together in anger. “You _dare_ to insinuate that my beloved is, is, is… a witch! How dare you, girl!” Suddenly he paused, the rage falling from his demeanor quite suddenly. He looked suspiciously down at Nicole who was somewhat cowering against the door frame. “Why… are you so intent on warning me about this?”

Nicole gulped before she summoned the courage to reply. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

Rolfe glanced at her with a shifty gaze, hands on his hips. “And that’s the only reason, is it? You put yourself in danger and in harm’s way to warn me even though you hardly know me? You could easily make yourself the so-called ‘witch’s’ target by trying to protect me if I’m indeed the one she wants for whatever reason. Are you truly that brave or do you have another reason?”

There were unshed tears in Nicole’s eyes as she reached forward. “Yes, John. I’m a Christian woman. I am humble. I do not proclaim myself a hero. If you must know…” she paused, hesitating out of sheer apprehension to admit the truth. “It’s, it’s because… I love you!”

The look on Rolfe’s face was unreadable though he appeared mostly nonthreatening. Nicole gathered the courage to step forward again and take hold of his shirt with her small white hands. She looked up into his indecipherable green eyes as she tried to determine his mood. He was so handsome that she just felt her heart melt. She closed her eyes and leaned in for a kiss.

She leaned in more and rose on her tiptoes, expecting to come into contact with his lips. When she did not, she peeked her eyes open slightly to find him leaning away from her with his head turned to the side. “You, mademoiselle, have just told me literally _everything_ I need to know,” he stated decisively, watching her with an intense gaze.

“I have?” Nicole inquired. “I mean… of course I have! Then why won’t you kiss me, my love?”

Rolfe snorted and pushed her back away from him. “I won’t kiss you, mademoiselle, because you are a petty, spoiled, selfish, infatuated, envious, manipulative, and immature teenage girl who is trying to come between myself and my true love. Not to mention that the means by which you are doing so are _pure evil_.” He took her firmly by the arm—not hard enough to hurt her though she was certainly startled—and shoved her toward the despoiled bedspread. “And if you think you won’t be punished, you have quite another thing coming! Now clean up that mess that you’ve made in your foolish attempt to beguile me and I will have one of the crew escort you down to the brig where you are to write a heartfelt letter of apology to both Pocahontas and myself. If we’re thoroughly convinced of your repentance, then there’s a minute chance you might be released before we arrive in Jamestown. Have I made myself clear, young lady?”

Tears were openly spilling down Nicole’s face by now. Sniffling, she glanced to the side where the captain’s desk sat. She noticed the empty wine bottle placed upon it by Jacqueline earlier as she had requested. Rolfe was affronted by Nicole’s wandering eyes. **“Look at me when I’m talking to you!”** he demanded, the harshness in his voice making her tremble with fear.

“You’re under a love spell, John! I’m trying to save you! Please, believe me. I had nothing to do with this!” Nicole cried out. “That woman, she’s a witch who lives on the souls of innocent men like yourself and I…” She fell silent when the fierce look on Rolfe’s face dared her to say one more word. Teary-eyed and helpless, she looked pleadingly up at him as he towered over her.

“You are _never_ to address me by my first name again,” Rolfe commanded. He pointed to the bed again. “Now do as I say and clean this up. Someone will be in to escort you in a few minutes. You’re lucky I don’t believe in whipping!” He turned swiftly and headed toward the door again.

The moment John Rolfe turned away Nicole snatched the wine bottle on the desk and ran after him. “This is for your own good, John!” she cried out as she brought the item crashing down over his head. The bottle shattered on impact and Rolfe fell to the floor with a heavy thud, shards of glass cascading around his prone form. Nicole gasped at what she had done. Ransacking the cabin for a broom, she quickly returned to clean up all the shattered glass on and around Rolfe’s body. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…” she kept saying to the unconscious man.

Once the glass was cleaned up, she tore the bloody sheets off the bed and replaced them with fresh linen. She tossed the spoiled sheets and the fish guts they contained out one of the open port side windows, returning to John Rolfe’s side to check him for injuries. Fortunately she determined that he had not been cut by the broken glass that had fallen around him.

She would need to get him onto the bed to examine his head next. She soon came to find that this would be no simple endeavor as Rolfe was considerably bigger and heavier than she was. Nicole had to hook her elbows beneath his underarms and drag him toward the bed that way, his body still prone to the floor. Fortunately for her the bed was fairly close to the ground. She pulled him up with all her might but then found herself losing her balance and falling backwards. He fell heavily on top of her on the now-clean bedspread. Finding herself pinned beneath his body, she squirmed and wriggled as she tried to breathe under the weight. “This is not how I pictured our first time together, John,” she croaked breathlessly.

It took a full minute for Nicole to maneuver John Rolfe off of her. With half his body hanging off the side of the bed, it took another five minutes of pushing and pulling to get him in the right position lying on his back along the length of the mattress. Nicole wiped some sweat off her brow. “Thank the Lord Christ that’s over,” she panted, fanning herself to cool down.

Once she had regained her composure, she lit a few more candles so she could get a view of his head. She placed a hand under his neck and pulled him gently up from the mattress, gasping when she noticed blood on the pillow. “Oh no, no, no, no, no, no,” she said, rushing to find bandages somewhere in the back of the cabin. She eventually came upon the former captain’s medical supply and grabbed all the bandages she could find, wrapping Rolfe’s head tightly to make sure the bleeding stopped. She took the opportunity to remove the pillow case and replace it with fresh linen, disposing of the bloodied one through the open window once again.

Nicole waited a good twenty minutes before removing the bandages and dabbing John Rolfe’s head with a wet cloth to remove as many traces of dried blood as she could. She checked his breathing and pulse, finding both to be okay. When she was finally done, she felt much relieved. Sitting on the side of the bed, she cupped Rolfe’s face with one of her hands and sighed. “Sleep now, my love. For when you wake, the spell shall be broken.” She leaned down and kissed him on the lips, letting the contact linger before slowly pulling back to look at his sleeping face.

Then she blew out the candles and left.

…

Pocahontas was down in the berthing quarters exchanging girly conversation and stories with Louise and Jacqueline before she started to miss Rolfe’s presence. Once the thought occurred to her, she also found herself missing Meeko, Percy, and Flit’s presences as well. She wondered where they could be as they usually kept her company until bedtime. As she recalled she had not seen them since some time before dinner. When Charlotte came into the room in her nightshirt ready for sleep, Pocahontas called her over. “Have you seen John, Meeko, Percy, or Flit anywhere? I haven’t seen them for a while,” she beseeched, having Louise translate.

Charlotte shook her head regarding the animals though she offered to go check on John Rolfe to see what he was up to. Perhaps the animals were with him, she speculated. “Thank you! That’s very kind of you,” Pocahontas replied, giving the girl a smile and a nod. Once Louise translated, the girl smiled back, grabbed a lantern, and went to go do her duty.

When Charlotte came up top, she abruptly ran into Nicole. “Oh hello, Nicole! Have you figured out the problem? Is the captain still in his cabin? Pocahontas is asking after him,” she remarked.

“We fixed the problem, yes. For now anyway. Monsieur Rolfe has gone to bed. He was quite exhausted after our talk. He does not wish to be disturbed,” Nicole replied, turning to leave.

Charlotte nodded, feeling relieved. “Were the animals with him?”

Nicole stopped dead in her tracks and glanced back at Charlotte over her shoulder. “Oh… oh yes. Yes, of course they were! They decided to sleep with him tonight. Now I’m off to bed. Goodnight, my friend!” Nicole returned in a tone that bordered on severe abruptness.

Charlotte looked perturbed as Nicole disappeared below but she shrugged and followed. She returned to the berthing quarters and told Pocahontas and Louise the news. “That’s strange,” noted the Powhatan woman. “John always helps me to bed. But I’m glad you found Meeko, Percy, and Flit. I was getting worried,” she laughed.

“Monsieur Rolfe was probably just really tired after doing all that work today,” Jacqueline casually offered. “I’m sure everything’s alright.”

After Louise translated, Pocahontas shrugged and yawned. “I suppose so. I better get to bed myself,” she said, reaching upwards into a stretch.

“I’ll help you,” Louise offered. She saw Pocahontas to her cabin and then retired herself.

…

John Rolfe did not appear bright and early the next morning as the crew expected him to each day. Madeleine was the first to wake and rouse the crew from their slumber. The first thing Nicole did when she awoke was to go up to the deck. Several of the other girls were already up and about, unfurling the sails and raising the anchor for the day’s sailing. She glanced down to the door leading into Pocahontas’s cabin. Louise was down there already knocking on the door. Nicole almost panicked until she spotted Jacqueline at the helm. She ran up to her and whispered, _“If Pocahontas tries to go to Rolfe’s cabin, distract her for me!”_

“Has anyone seen Monsieur Rolfe? Has he not risen yet?!” Denise called out in curiosity.

Nicole shot a devious look to the crew below. “I’ll go check on him! Go ahead and continue preparing the ship, ladies!” she called out in response. A few girls including Denise nodded to her and went back to what they were doing. Nicole turned her attention to John Rolfe’s door. After tiptoeing inside she shut the door behind her and locked it. Then she turned her attention to the man who was lying on the bed in the exact same position she had left him in the night before. A spike of fear in her heart told her she might have hit him hard enough to put him into a coma but she tried to reassure herself that he would wake up soon enough. She walked up to him and sat on the bed, running her fingers through his auburn hair. She assessed the state of his breathing and pulse again, relieved when they both proved present. “Time to wake up, my love, and greet the new day,” she crooned. She shook him slightly. No response.

Nicole frowned and turned to the captain’s desk. She went over and opened one of the drawers, finding a skin of water in the bottom one. She tried sprinkling some on his face. No results. She sighed in frustration and finally dumped the full contents over his head. Rolfe shot up from the bed with a loud yelp, immediately bringing a hand to his injured head with his eyes squeezed shut in pain. Hearing him moan in agony, she frowned. “What’s wrong, dear? Are you sick?”

“I… I don’t…” John Rolfe began in confusion. “Wh-where am I?” He shivered from the wetness and pushed his legs over the side of the bed, bringing his feet to rest on the floor.

“No, no! If you’re sick you should be lying down, sir,” Nicole commanded, pushing him back down. He grimaced and started feeling around his head, wincing when he came upon the injured spot. Nicole quickly pulled his hand away. “No, no, no. You must try to relax. I’ll get you some breakfast and something to drink. That will help revive you.”

Nicole quickly left and returned with breakfast, dodging the crew’s questions. When she got back, Rolfe was sitting up again. “What did I tell you about sitting up? Now lie back down right now. I wouldn’t want you to injure yourself,” she said in an authoritative tone.

She set the tray on the desk and tried to push him down again but he resisted. “No! It hurts too much when my head is on the pillow. Where’s Madeleine? I need a doctor… or… Where’s Pocahontas?” he murmured, making little sense to himself.

Nicole sighed at his stubbornness. “What do you remember?” she inquired, instead placing the food tray on his lap to prevent him from getting up. “Here, try to eat something.”

“Remember?” John Rolfe rasped, looking up with squinting eyes.

“Yes,” Nicole replied as she tried to bring a skin of water to his lips. “What do you remember about Madeleine… and Pocahontas?” She hesitantly ventured further, “Who do you love, John?”

With his eyes only half-open, a very confused John Rolfe drew his brows together in irritation. “Stop interrogating me, woman! It makes my head hurt!” he snapped, pushing the skin away. He took the tray off his lap and put it down on the bed beside him. Rising weakly to his feet, he had to lean heavily on the wall for support as he tried to grope around for the exit.

“What did I tell you about getting up?” Nicole protested. “And mind your manners, monsieur! Remember you are a gentleman after all!”

She tried to take him by the arm but he pushed her away with enough strength to send her stumbling backwards. “I’m in too much pain to mind my bloody manners! Now where is Pocahontas and Madeleine? I must see them immediately.” His hand eventually found the doorknob and tried to turn it, finding it to be locked. He groped around for the lock and unlocked the door before throwing it open. He shrieked slightly and covered his eyes as the sunlight hit full force. Clinging to the wall and then the railing, he made his way out onto the deck.

Marie-Claude was at the helm. She gasped when she saw him. “Monsieur Rolfe, are you alright?” she frantically asked as the unbalanced man stumbled around upper deck. He found his way to the stairs and started to crawl down feet first. While Marie-Claude could not leave the helm, she whistled down to Madeleine. “Maddie, we need you!”

Pocahontas was chatting with Jacqueline and Louise on lower deck when she looked up and spotted Rolfe. She knew immediately something was wrong when she noted him crawling down the stairs. He had reached the bottom one by the time she made it over to him with her crutches.

“I need Pocahontas!” John Rolfe slurred. Disoriented, he groped around and finally seated himself on the bottom step while holding his head in agony.

“John!” Pocahontas cried. Dropping her crutches onto the deck, she hopped over and sat down beside him on the step. “I’m right here. What in the world happened to you?”

“I don’t know. My head is killing me!” John Rolfe cried. “Did… did I have too much to drink last night?” he inquired. He winced as Pocahontas took his head in her hands and gently started feeling around. Her touch was light as a feather but it still pained him.

“Your hair is wet,” Pocahontas remarked, shaking her head as she withdrew her hands. “I only remember you having a glass of wine at dinner,” she replied, baffled by the state he was in.

Madeleine and Louise rushed over. “What’s happened?” Louise said in a panic.

“John is hurt somehow,” Pocahontas told her. “Quick, help me get him back to his cabin. We can take better care of him there. Come on, John. Go ahead and lean on these two for support.”

Pocahontas tossed her crutches to upper deck and crab-walked backwards up the stairs, rising to her feet with the help of the bannister. Madeleine and Louise pulled Rolfe to his feet and helped him make his way back up the stairs and into the captain’s quarters. By the time they reached the bed, Rolfe leaned over to vomit. Fortunately Louise was observant and quick to kick an empty bucket to him just in time. Pocahontas, seated on the bed, gasped in surprise and reached to pull Rolfe’s hair out of his face as he lost his stomach contents into the receptacle. She looked away.

“Sit him down right here,” Pocahontas instructed once he finished, patting the spot to her left on the bed. They did so and then Madeleine moved to the desk to find a cloth. She returned and wiped Rolfe’s mouth for him, hearing him mutter a weak thank you in French. Pocahontas brushed his wet bangs aside and put a hand to his forehead. “He doesn’t seem to have a fever. I wonder… Hey John, what’s troubling you the most? Does your belly hurt?”

Rolfe tried to shake his head but he winced in pain. “N-no. It’s my head. I feel like I’ve somehow cracked my skull in twain!” he declared in a rasping voice. “God in Heaven, please make it stop!” he pleaded, bending forward as he held his head with his hands.

Pocahontas started gently feeling around his scalp again. When he yelped, she knew she had found the right spot. It was a massive throbbing lump on the back of his head. “Sorry, John! I’ll try to be careful. It looks like you hit your head somehow. I need to inspect it.” She gently pulled out his disheveled ponytail and tried to maneuver the wet strands aside to reveal the lump. “Louise, bring that lantern closer. Thank you.” Pocahontas squinted her eyes as she examined the injury and then gasped. “John, it looks like there is dried blood in your hair!” She looked more closely. “I see a cut. It’s scabbed over but it was definitely bleeding before,” she said, pointing to the spot as Madeleine leaned over to take a look. The area of scalp was black and blue but Madeleine thought she spotted something. Her fingernails were rather long since she had not had an opportunity to clip them lately. It proved to be advantageous as she reached in and plucked out a tiny shard of green glass that had been embedded in Rolfe’s scalp.

Rolfe cried out in pain. Pocahontas held onto him as all three ladies leaned in to see what it was. Louise’s eyes widened. “That’s glass!” she blurted in French and then repeated it in English.

The women looked at each other, completely perturbed. Pocahontas shook her head to clear her thoughts and turned to the head of the bed. “Come, John. Lie down on your side so you don’t put pressure on the bruise,” Pocahontas proposed. She grabbed the pillow to fluff it up, finding it to be wet. “What the…? This pillow is wet like John’s hair!” She brought the pillow to her face and sniffed the wet part, relieved to find it was odor-free. Somehow she had been slightly worried that Rolfe had managed to urinate on his own head and pillow. Thankfully that did not appear to be the case. “I think it’s just water.” She turned to Rolfe. “John, do you remember how you got wet?” she inquired, gently lifting his face so she could look at him.

“No, I don’t,” he weakly replied.

Madeleine said something in French and Louise translated for Pocahontas. “Madeleine says she is concerned that Monsieur Rolfe might have a concussion. She knows how to treat this injury fortunately. She has dealt with concussed patients before.”

Pocahontas let out a sigh of relief. “Well that’s good to know. I’m going to have to put her on duty watching over John. I…” She paused, glancing around the room. “Hey… where’s Meeko, Percy, and Flit?” She rose to her good foot, balancing on it as she felt a sense of panic overtake her. “Meeko!” she called out. No response. The cabin was silent save for the four human occupants. She turned her attention back to Rolfe. “John, didn’t they sleep with you last night? Charlotte told us they were with you,” she asked gently but with a tone of urgency.

“Huh?” Rolfe murmured. “I-I haven’t seen them. I don’t even remember going to bed last night!”

Pocahontas bit her lip in worry and turned to the ladies. “I need to go search for them. Louise, tell Madeleine to stay with John and tend to his injury. I’ll be back to check on things in a bit. Come with me?” she requested, shoving her crutches under her arms. Louise nodded and told Madeleine who nodded in agreement as well. Louise got up and held the door open for Pocahontas to limp out. “Meeko? Flit?!” she called out over the whole deck. She looked around frantically and made her way down the stairs with Louise in fast pursuit. Perhaps they were in the galley getting something to eat. Pocahontas felt encouraged at the thought. She started to head down to the lower level of the ship but was stopped by Jacqueline.

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle Pocahontas,” the girl greeted.

Pocahontas glanced back at Louise. “Can you ask her if she’s seen Meeko, Percy, and Flit?”

Louise nodded and translated the inquiry for Jacqueline. The latter answered in French and Louise turned back to Pocahontas. “She says she saw them thirty minutes ago in the galley eating cookies but she passed by again just now and they were gone,” Louise told Pocahontas.

Contrary to Jacqueline’s expectations, the revelation only increased Pocahontas’s anxieties. “This is strange! They’ve never avoided me for so long. What the spirits is happening on this ship?!”

“Mademoiselle Pocahontas, I’m sure it is not as bad as all that,” Louise protested.

“Come, we need to find them!” Pocahontas proclaimed, pushing gently past Jacqueline. Louise followed quickly as they descended into the belly of the ship.

Jacqueline glanced down after them and bit her lip in unease. She found Nicole at the helm after the latter had relieved Marie-Claude so she could keep an eye on the door to Rolfe’s cabin. “They’re searching for the animals,” Jacqueline told her, climbing the stairs to the helm.

“What?!” Nicole snapped angrily.

“I tried to lie about having seen them but the Indian woman is still concerned. Are they well-hidden?” Jacqueline inquired, wringing her hands in anxiety. God forbid their plot be discovered.

Nicole opened her mouth to reply just as a roll of ear-shattering thunder struck overhead, conjuring a series of startled screams from ladies on deck. The crewwomen looked up as storm clouds rolled in from the south at an unnatural speed. “Where’s Captain Rolfe?!” Lorraine cried. “There’s a storm coming! What do we do?!”


	11. Just Around the River Bend...

****Pocahontas and Louise nearly jumped out of their skins when the thunder struck. They looked at each other with wide, terrified eyes. “Oh no, the ship!” they cried in unison.

“Pocahontas, be safe! The girls need my help. Monsieur Rolfe put me second-in-command until you recovered!” Louise quickly told her, turning on a heel and heading right back up top. When she arrived on deck, rain was just beginning to fall lightly on the deck and picking up speed rapidly. The crewwomen were in a panic as the sea rose and fell higher with each passing wave.

“Where’s Captain Rolfe? Help!”

“The captain is hurt, I saw!”

“He can’t command!”

“God in heaven, what do we do?!”

“The only man on the ship is incapacitated!”

“We’re doomed!”

A series of startled screams erupted as a massive wave shoved the ship upward with a sudden jerk. Louise looked up to see Nicole clinging to the helm with a look of terror on her face. “Hold on, Nicole! I’m coming!” Louise cried up to her. Using the railings and bannisters to maintain her balance, she stumbled her way up the stairs and over to the helm to take command. With two fingers in her mouth, she let loose a shrill whistle that could be heard easily over the worsening winds. “Denise, Geneviève, tie yourselves to the poles with the ropes and furl the topsails,” she shouted up to the two riggers high on the mast. “You’ll have to weather the storm from there!”

“Aye, aye!” the sisters replied in unison.

Louise struggled to maintain control of the wheel as the waves began to toss the hapless vessel about. She shouted commands to Marie-Claude and Catherine to climb up the lower mast and begin furling the main sails. “We have to get the sails up, ladies. The mast might break or the ship might overturn. Only then are we doomed! Don’t lose hope! We can do this!” She turned to Lorraine and Isabelle, both of whom were clinging for dear life to the railings on lower deck. “Girls, go down below to the pump and start working it like your life depends on it! The ship will take up water! You’ll feel safer down there anyhow! Go! Simone, you man the tiller!”

The girls held on to the rope ladders and skidded down the deck as the first waves crashed over the railing. They were nearly washed down the stairs into the belly of the ship but Lorraine spread her legs just in time to stomp against the bannisters on each side of the stairway, stopping her, Simone, Isabelle’s descent. When the ship righted itself again, they took the opportunity to hop up on their feet and run down the stairs one after the other. They passed Pocahontas on their way who after searching fruitlessly for her animals friends had decided to go check on Rolfe and Madeleine. The storm frightened her but she feared more for Rolfe’s safety in light of his injury.

Her greatest challenge would be getting back to his cabin but she was determined to crawl on hands and knees if she had to. Leaving her useless crutches behind, she clung tightly to the bannisters as she clumsily hopped up to lower deck. The raging wind whipped her hair painfully against the skin of her face as the pouring rain soaked her through and through. She fought against all of it with all of her might, the weight of her sopping clothes pulling her down.

Pocahontas wedged herself in a secure spot behind the bannister to upper deck just as another massive wave bowled into the starboard side of the ship. She was temporarily submerged and felt the ear-popping pressure of the raving seas on her body. She coughed and sputtered once the water had passed, heaving desperately to fill her lungs with air. “Pocahontas, what are you doing up here?!” Louise cried, catching sight of her at the bottom of the staircase.

“I’m going to relieve Madeleine so she can help you furl the sails!” Pocahontas called up to her. Another wave crashed into the stern of the ship, rising like a tidal wave over the rear and showered down on them. Louise and Pocahontas braced themselves respectively against the helm and bannister though Louise fell back once the water had passed, momentarily blinded by the salt. The wheel spun wildly but Pocahontas crawled on hands and knees to upper deck and grabbed a hold of it, steadying the ship. “Are you alright?” she called to Louise.

Louise’s medium brown hair was soaked through and through such that it was black as night. She snapped her neck back to toss her hair out of her face and scrambled back to the wheel, taking it from Pocahontas. “Thank you!” she declared.

Pocahontas nodded and turned toward the door to John Rolfe’s quarters still on hands and knees. Just before she could reach for the knob, someone appeared in her path. Both of them were nearly airborne momentarily as the ship rapidly descended more than forty feet from the crest of a wave. Nicole clung to the railing on her right, blocking the door to the captain’s quarters. “Stay away from him, you witch!” she snapped. Nicole grabbed Pocahontas brutally by the hair and dragged her to the railing looking over the violent seas.

“Ow, stop! What are you doing?” Pocahontas cried, struggling to escape her rival’s grasp.

The blonde kicked her and yanked her up, trying to push her over the side. When Pocahontas realized Nicole’s intention, she screamed at the top of her lungs for help. “Your spell on him is too strong,” Nicole charged. “It seems the only way I can free John from your heathen grip is to get rid of _you_!” she spat as she slapped, kicked, and scratched at the Powhatan woman madly.

…

The heaving and rocking of the ship was agony to John Rolfe. Madeleine pressed her torso lengthwise across his body and held on to the sides of the bed for dear life and to keep him from falling to the floor or injuring himself further. “Hold on, Monsieur Rolfe! The storm will pass!” she cried, her voice nearly drowned out by a clap of thunder overhead.

A rush of saltwater flooded in from under the door, soaking the girl’s feet and shoes. The mental state Rolfe was in could be described as complete terrifying chaos. He could hardly tell his senses apart, let alone the panicked voices he was hearing outside from one another. The only moment of clarity came when one familiar voice rose above all others, crying out for help.

The Englishman sat bolt upright, his leaf-green eyes snapping open. As intense as the pain was in his head, he forced it back when he heard Pocahontas’s screams. Nothing could be more important than the safety of the one for whom he had come on this voyage to begin with. Madeleine pulled back in startlement as he pushed past her and hopped onto his feet. Holding onto the wooden frame of the bed, he cried out, “Pocahontas? Pocahontas!”

“Monsieur Rolfe, no! You must lie back down! You are badly injured!” Madeleine proclaimed though she made no attempt to stop him in a physical sense.

Suddenly both of them were washed to the back of the cabin as a massive wave broke through the door. They hit the wall hard. Coughing and sputtering as the ship rocked forth again thus draining the cabin, Rolfe scrambled against the slippery floor trying to get to the door. Glancing back, he saw Madeleine had been knocked unconscious. He grabbed her arm and dragged her back to the bed as the ship righted itself again, using a length of rope in a nearby barrel to tie her securely to the mattress. With a hope and a prayer, it would keep her from drowning as the ship made another twenty to thirty foot drop from the crest of a massive wave.

He fell to the floor again face-first, heaving in agony as he crawled toward the now-open doorway. He could barely see the sailorettes rushing about outside, struggling to keep the ship afloat. “Stop it! No! John, help! John Rolfe!” Pocahontas screamed. Clawing his way to the threshold, Rolfe identified the one known as Nicole just as she body-slammed Pocahontas over the stairs bannister. The Powhatan woman disappeared over the starboard side of the ship.

“Pocahontas!” Rolfe screamed as his vision began to change colors rapidly. Against the pain and disorientation, he knew he had to get to her somehow. No matter what, he had to get to her.

…

Percy barked tirelessly at a very ill Meeko, encouraging him to keep trying to pick at the lock on their cage which dangled treacherously from the brig ceiling. They had both found themselves in the same confined area when they had awoken from a nap after passing out from eating too many cookies. Flit had been somehow captured as well in a jar with air holes poked on top and a small amount of honey on the bottom to feed him. The jar in turn had been placed in a dangling cage adjacent to the one the mammals were in. He chirped angrily at Meeko. The raccoon was their only hope for escape but the storm had made him dangerously ill as it rocked everything about.

Percy, frustrated as he was with the raccoon’s slothful behavior, started to look for other more desperate solutions. He started to ram himself into the side of the cage, only making the thing rock more. Meeko finally lost his stomach contents. Still Percy did not stop making the cage swing about, even smacking into the ceiling at one point. Every ten seconds or so it would collide with Flit’s cage, causing the jar the bird was in to overturn. Flit was not pleased to have honey dripping on his head. Turning his attention from Meeko, he started to squawk at Percy.

But with one particularly hard collision, Flit’s cage broke loose from the chain adhering it to the ceiling. It fell to the sodden floor and shattered the jar he was in. Disoriented from the impact, the tiny bird shook his head clear and flew up to the other cage. He used his pin-like beak to pick at the lock that Meeko had been working so tirelessly on before the storm.

_Click!_

Against all odds, Percy had inadvertently saved the day. He hopped down onto a stack of rum barrels, using them as a staircase to reach the floor. The raccoon on the other hand tumbled haplessly out of the cage as it swung and fell on top of Percy the moment the pug touched the ground. They tumbled through the rising saltwater and hit the wall, nearly drowned by a wave that hit them right afterwards. They both sputtered as the wave receded, clearing their lungs.

Flit found the door to the brig locked at first. He was the only one able to fit through the small bars on the door’s high window. As he planned to pick the lock again, he found it unnecessary once a massive wave from the upper floors bowled through the door and busted its hinges that were in disrepair to begin with. The door was not completely destroyed but there was just big enough an opening for the mammals to squeeze through. Unfortunately due to the state the raccoon was in, Percy was required to drag him through the opening by his tail.

A crash of thunder and the flickering light made Percy yip in terror, trying to keep his footing in the rushing water on the hall’s floor. Suddenly a very familiar voice screamed bloody murder and Meeko snapped to attention. Flit was off immediately. Meeko and Percy met gazes with each other and then scrabbled through the shallow rushing water after their flying friend.

…

Pocahontas was clinging for dear life off the starboard side of the ship by the time she heard Rolfe’s voice. Nearly blinded from sea salt, storm winds and beating rain, she could not even see her attacker or hope to fight back. “John! Help!” she cried again with Nicole’s fist in her hair.

Pocahontas felt like her scalp was being ripped from her skull as the belligerent girl also scratched at the Powhatan woman’s hands, trying to pry them from the railing of the ship. “Savage! Heathen! Witch! Barbarian! Degenerate!” Nicole cursed in French.

Flit tried to emerge but he could not manage the winds. He was blown past John Rolfe at the threshold to the broken-in captain’s quarters. “Flit?! Pocahontas!” Rolfe cried.

Nicole screamed as razor-sharp teeth tore into her tender calves. She looked down to see both Meeko and Percy attacking her. “I thought I got rid of you bewitched quadrupeds!”

Just as Rolfe was about to make a break toward Pocahontas, the ship dipped right and sent everyone off balance. Pocahontas, Nicole, Meeko, and Percy were thrown off the starboard side. Rolfe, having watched everything in horror, tore off the battered door to his quarters and tied a rope around the knob. Then he tied the end around his own waist. He had to go after them.

Just before John Rolfe could follow, he stared out into the storm and spotted what he thought to be a vicious face literally made out of the wind itself. He was momentarily frozen in place as he watched the glaring red eyes examine the ship and then move on, heading north. He jumped in after the girls but it was too late. The fast-moving ship was rapidly leaving them behind. In the saltwater, Rolfe mounted the severed wooden door and began to paddle toward them as fast as he could. But in his concussed state he was not fast enough and the rope finally ran out of slack, tearing the loose pulley it was attached to from the ship. “Oh no!” Rolfe cried.

They were lost now for sure. The massive waves thrashed them terribly. Pocahontas spotted Rolfe and swam after him, fighting the violence of the storm with all her might. Nicole clung for dear life to an empty crate as she drifted away from the others rapidly. She screamed and coughed as the ocean tried to drown her. Pocahontas only just made it to the floating door as a nearly-unconscious Rolfe toppled off at the breaking crest of a wave. Pocahontas screamed when he failed to reappear as the wooden door returned to the surface. Diving down to find him, it was to her great relief that he was tied to the door with a rope around his waist. She pulled him back up to the surface, both coughing and heaving as the waves surged over them one after the other.

Clinging to each other on opposite sides of the door, the couple feared they would perish. Bits and pieces of ship debris floated around them, mainly crates and rum barrels, tossed about by the waves. They had lost sight of their animal friends, they had lost sight of Nicole, and they had lost sight of the ship. But by the grace of some divine being they had not lost sight of each other.

…

Pocahontas awoke on a white sand beach at dusk. When she realized she was conscious she sat bolt upright and hissed at the pain in her ankle, recalling then that she was still injured. Covered with cuts, scratches, and bruises, she hardly took notice of the rest of her physical state as her eyes frantically searched the surroundings for John Rolfe. A spike of fear shot through her heart when she spotted a body lying prone on top of a familiar broken door ten feet or so away.

She tried to crawl over to him on hands and knees, finding the pain in her muscles and bones to be immense from the beating the storm had dealt her. She pushed herself hard and then collapsed beside Rolfe, bringing two fingers to his wrist to check for a pulse. “John?” she rasped.

His clothes were torn and his hair was damp and disheveled yet Pocahontas thought she saw his eyelids flutter. She checked his breathing, finding it to be very shallow but present. She felt relieved at first but then worried when he refused to rouse. “John? John!” she cried, gently shaking him. Eventually she gave up trying to wake him. Nothing seemed to work. Her body went slack as she whispered, _“Don’t die on me, John.”_ She tried to think back on the events that had led to their present condition. The storm itself stuck out first and foremost in her mind. Then Rolfe’s head injury came to mind. She hoped to the Great Spirit that the violent waves had not rendered him comatose. If he was comatose, he was as good as dead out in the wilderness.

 _Nicole_. Pocahontas recalled the girl’s beautiful but demented face during the attack. It was Nicole who had thrown her overboard. But why? It had not occurred to Pocahontas that the blonde girl might hate her to such a degree. While she had not understood the words the French woman had screamed at her during the assault, she knew them to be vicious from mere context. Though Pocahontas had felt some tension between the two of them in days prior, she never could have imagined the depth of Nicole’s hatred. The Powhatan woman laid there on the sand trying to recall what she might have done to rouse the woman’s wrath so but the more she thought the more exhausted she became. The events of earlier and the fight to survive the storm had zapped her energy. She felt her eyelids flutter as she passed out beside John Rolfe on the sand.

…

The next time Pocahontas opened her eyes, the sun had switched sides on the sky to the eastern horizon. Dawn had arrived and the surge of high tide lapped at her feet. It was the tickling of the saltwater that had awakened her and she tried painfully to sit up. She moved her dry tongue around in her even drier salty mouth, noting how completely parched she was. When she heard a groan, she glanced to her right. John Rolfe had flipped over onto his back and was slowly rubbing his forehead with one hand, an extremely pained look on his face. _“Oh, agony upon agonies,”_ she thought she heard him moan almost inaudibly.

“John?” she murmured. His hand collapsed to the sand as he seemed to fall asleep again. Pocahontas scooted closer and untied the rope around his waist, tossing it aside. “John, we need to move. The tide is rising,” she told him, receiving no response at first. She shook him. “John!”

His body spasmed a little. “Jus’ one more minu’, Mum,” he slurred nonsensically.

Pocahontas pried one of his green eyes open and he tried to squint. “Peekaboo,” she said.

“Pocahontas?” he muttered, pulling back from her as he propped his torso up on one elbow. He rubbed his face with his free hand and winced at the pain. “Oh God, it hurts. Need water.”

Pocahontas sighed in worry as she glanced around them. “There is no fresh water here. We need to look for a river,” she told him. “Can you get up on your feet, John?”

“What do you want my feet for?” he returned in confusion.

“No, John,” Pocahontas replied. “I don’t want your feet. I want you to stand up on your feet. If you can manage it,” she clarified, getting more and more worried about the state of his brain.

“Stand… up… on… your… feet,” Rolfe repeated slowly as if to translate a foreign phrase.

Pocahontas frowned and shook her head. She rolled over onto her hands and knees and felt a sharp pain on her thigh. Glancing down, she noticed her machete was still attached to her waist. She brought her hand to her collar bone and discovered her necklace was still intact as well. She reached into her pocket to discover that Rolfe’s coin purse was still there. Apart from her clothes, those three items were all she had on her. They did not even have one scrap of food. Pocahontas crawled behind John Rolfe with a sudden feeling of determination, hooking her elbows beneath his underarms. “Come on, we need to go this way. Away from the water. Too much water bad,” she said simplistically, dragging him away from the surge. “Must find food.”

John Rolfe cried out in pain, causing her to stop. He was too heavy anyway. Pocahontas crawled to his side and tried to roll him over onto hands and knees. “No, it hurts!” he cried out.

“John, you need to try. I know it hurts but we can’t stay here. We’ll drown if we stay here,” Pocahontas urged, pushing harder. He hissed in pain but made it to the point that he was sitting on his knees facing the forest. He held his head with both hands, a tortured look on his face.

“Where’s the ship?” Rolfe inquired with a wince, having a moment of slight clarity. With a hand held like a visor over his eyes, he looked up and scanned the dawn’s horizon. The seas were calm and the skies clear. In fact the only remnants of the storm that either of them noticed were the debris that had fallen off the ship and been washed ashore as well as torn foliage and fallen trees in the forest behind them. There was an empty crate embedded in the sand that they took fleeting notice of as well as splintered fragments of a rum barrel here and there. “What happened?”

“There was a storm. Do you remember?” Pocahontas inquired, beckoning him up the beach. The surf had reached his knees by now. “I have no idea where the ship is. It may or may not still be afloat.” She felt her bottom lip quiver. “I don’t know where Meeko, Percy, and Flit are either.”

Rolfe slowly and painfully tried to push himself into a crouching position. He attempted but failed to rise to his feet, the minute stumble paining him even more. “Ack! M-maybe we’ll find them or maybe they’re still on the ship. Maybe they’ll get to Jamestown first. Oh no, Jamestown… Virginia. We need to get back to Virginia! Where in the world are we?”

“North of Florida, I think,” Pocahontas replied. “I’m not sure how far north though. But we’re definitely not home yet,” she said, noting the palm trees up the beach. “Come, hurry,” she beckoned again. “The water is still rising. You must fight the pain, John.”

Rolfe hissed again. “I can’t walk.”

“Then crawl. Hurry, follow me,” Pocahontas declared. She turned and began to crawl up the beach on hands and knees like a toddler, being careful of her still-injured ankle. She glanced back to see if Rolfe was following. He was, slowly. He appeared to be in a lot of pain though. “You can do it. Come on. Forget about dignity for now, we need to stay alive.”

It took a couple minutes for them to make it up to the line where the beach transitioned into the forest. Pocahontas had to wait for Rolfe to catch up as he kept trying to stand every now and again. Once he reached the first palm tree he tried one more time, leaning on the tree for support. Despite being doubled over like an elderly person, he managed to remain on his feet for more than a few seconds. The sun rose further as he glanced around, able to make out his surroundings more clearly. He rubbed his eyes with his free hand and then gingerly brought it to the back of his head where the lump was. It was stinging from the saltwater, the combination of different sources of pain making him nauseous. He sank to his knees again, allowing himself to slump into the dirty sand. A moment later he felt Pocahontas tap his shoulder and he glanced up to see her holding a very large, familiar-looking nut. “Oh, thank God!” Rolfe declared.

Pocahontas smiled. “Consider it our reward for making it this far up the beach.”

Rolfe pushed himself up again and reached for the nut, trying to pull the fibrous strands loose. But he had weakened considerably from physical trauma and lack of food and water. His strength was down to near zero. Pocahontas only smiled wider as she flipped out the machete on her belt. “You din’t lose it?” he slurred, a tidbit of confusion returning to his head. He winced again.

“No. It’s good I always kept it with me,” Pocahontas replied, setting the nut down in the sand away from both of them. She began to hack the sides of the outer shell off. She paused to glance over at Rolfe. “What do you have in your pockets?” she inquired, gesturing with the blade.

Rolfe raised a brow and reached a hand into the deep left pocket of his plain green trousers. He pulled out a long white tube with golden caps on each end. “Well I’ve got this… thing here,” he muttered, confused as he turned the item this way and that to assess what it was.

“That’s the king’s order, John. Put that back in your pocket. We’ll need that,” Pocahontas told him. “But first do you have anything else in that pocket?”

He placed the king’s order in his right hand and reached into the pocket again, pulling out a small case. He popped it open, revealing the necklace Pocahontas had worn to the Hunt Ball. Rolfe raised a brow at it. “Ooh, pretty! I’m sure I’ve seen this somewhere before.”

“Is there anything else?” Pocahontas inquired, tempted to slap her forehead.

Rolfe put both items down on the ground and reached deeper into his left pocket. He pulled out a plain white handkerchief. “I swear I’ve never seen this before in my life.”

Pocahontas wanted to giggle but their situation was far too dire. “Check the right pocket.”

He put the other items back in his left pocket and then reached into his right, fishing around. He pulled out a drinking skin. “Disfortune… misfort-… Unfortunately, it’s empty.”

“Okay, well this is all we have to work with for now then,” Pocahontas concluded.

John Rolfe snorted. “I’ve got no razor, brush, or tie. A bad hair day has thus begun.”

Pocahontas rolled her eyes. He had a severe five o’clock shadow and his head hair was a matted disaster but she really could not care less about their appearances just then. “Your hair is the least of our worries right now, John.” She started tearing off strands of the coconut, which was far easier once the outer shell had been removed. It was not long before she had made it to the inner shell. She used a discarded seashell shard to poke three holes in the soft spots on the top. “Here, I think you need this more than me,” she said, handing him the coconut. Rolfe accepted the item but only stared at it dumbly as he held it in his two hands. “You’re supposed to drink it.”

Realization dawned on Rolfe’s features. “Oh, right,” he said with a bit of anxious laughter. He tipped the item back and drank about half the milk from it. “Ah, my throat feels slightly better now but it din’t do anything for my head,” he grumbled, handing her the nut.

Pocahontas drank the rest and then chopped the nut open with her machete. She shaved off bits of white meat and offered some to Rolfe. “Eat, John. We need to replenish our strength as much as possible to find a river. That’s our next initiative. Stay alive, no matter what.”

“I don’t want to eat,” Rolfe griped, looking distastefully at the food despite the fact he had not eaten in over twenty-four hours. “My head is making my stomach hurt.”

Pocahontas brought a piece up to his lips. “Please, you must try to eat something. Small bites.”

Rolfe frowned and took the small piece, nibbling on it a bit. “I wish there was more to drink.”

“Yes, that’s why we need to find a river.”

Rolfe sighed in agitation and rubbed his forehead. “But you can’t walk and I can’t think. How are we… who are… I’m sorry, what were we talking about?”

Pocahontas turned and glanced around the forest behind them. There were plenty of trees of different kinds. She spotted an oak with inch-thick branches low to the ground. “I’ll have to forge some crutches,” she replied, swinging out her machete again. “As for you, I think you could use a nice walking stick. It’ll help you stay on your feet for longer periods.”

Pocahontas carefully crawled and crab-walked over to the tree, standing up on one foot when she reached the trunk. She used the branches for support as she looked through them, trying to find the perfect ones to make crutches out of. She came upon one with branches that separated at the end, making the perfect V-shape for her underarms. After severing it from the tree and cutting it down to size, she tested it out. It worked perfectly. She just needed to find another one like it. It took another minute of searching but she found one a little higher up. She had to boost herself up on a lower branch to reach and sever it with her machete. After that she had to use her body weight to yank it down as it was entangled with the other branches around it.

Meanwhile Rolfe was sitting against a tree holding his head in his hands. “How are we going to find food in this condition? I can’t hunt with this headache and you…”

“Look at the bright side, John,” Pocahontas interrupted. “We’re no longer running from vicious pirates. We can relax and take our time now. Everything will be alright, just have a little faith.”

Glancing over at her through squinted eyes, Rolfe nodded slightly. The sunlight was already beginning to bother him, only worsening his wretched condition. He could only pray that it would not get too hot later on, at least not before they found clean water. “Faith, yes…” He seemed to enter a state of meditation but it was not long before Pocahontas interrupted it by placing a long thick stick in his lap. He looked at it and glanced up at her. She was already using her new crutches though she looked uncomfortable. “Are you alright?”

“I need to pad the crooks of these things. Right now it feels like they’re just pinching my underarms,” Pocahontas replied. “I’m just testing them at the moment. They’re strong enough.”

Rolfe raised a brow. “What are we to pad them with?”

“Leaves at the moment,” Pocahontas indicated, pillaging a maple sapling to stuff the leaves in the crooks one at a time. She used her underarm to pin them in place. “Once we find some grasses I will make twine and wind it around the wood. It will be a more permanent solution.”

Rolfe rose painfully with the support of his new walking stick, bringing one hand to his head once he was standing. “Dear God, Pocahontas. The pain is immense. The throbbing in the back of my skull makes me feel like my head is going to explode,” he grumbled, sighing heavily.

“It’s alright, John,” Pocahontas replied. “Just walk as far as you can and we’ll take breaks.”

Rolfe glanced up and down the beach with squinting eyes. “Which way do we go?”

“North, remember? I know you don’t have your compass with you but there are other ways to tell. Look, the sun rises in the east and sets in the west,” Pocahontas pointed out, gesturing to the eastern horizon. Rolfe looked at it. “Just go left of the rising sun. That’s north.”

“Left of the rising sun,” Rolfe repeated. “Alright.”

At first Rolfe had to take breaks every five minutes when his head hurt too badly but the pain seemed to come and go in severity. He hiked with Pocahontas when it was at its most tolerable level. Having only drunk the contents of one coconut and eaten a tiny bit of food, both of them were exhausted by the time they had traveled a mile or two. They collapsed by a ripe berry bush. The pickings were meager given how many birds graced the area. The tweets, squawks, and birdsong would have been music to Rolfe’s ears had his head not ached so terribly. The grassy forest had less flat terrain than the coastal land in Florida though the rises and falls of the ground were not very steep. Pocahontas manage them even with her crutches. They eventually lost sight of the ocean entirely as they traveled further inland in pursuit of fresh water.

Once Pocahontas had eaten all the berries she could, she got up with her crutches again ready to continue the journey. Rolfe did not budge, electing to collapse on the ground instead as he cradled his head in his hands. “This is pure torment. Please God, make it stop!”

“Come on, John. Just a little bit further. We can break again soon but we’ve got to keep going,” Pocahontas insisted, nudging him with her left crutch. “Bit by bit. Just think of how good that cool fresh water is going to feel sliding down your throat,” she said enticingly.

Rolfe closed his eyes in minute bliss at the suggestion. He huffed and, with a big groan, managed to rise and drag himself even further into the forest upon Pocahontas’s encouragement. “If I had to travel through hell itself, there’s only one person I would want to do it with,” he rasped, somehow managing to flash Pocahontas a smile through the pain. His distress had gotten to the point that he feared he might break down sooner or later but he resisted the urge with all his might even as Pocahontas pushed him far beyond his normal limits. “Were I with anyone else, I would have given up long ago,” he admitted in a low voice.

Pocahontas stopped and looked at him dotingly, causing him to come to a standstill beside her and return the gaze. They leaned in for a kiss, feeling how parched each other’s lips were. When they pulled apart, she said, “We can do this, John. I know we can. Water can’t be far off. Just look at how lush the forest is around us!” she pointed out.

Rolfe glanced around, praying to the Almighty that Pocahontas’s instincts were right. Not that he doubted her—he just figured they needed all the help they could get. “Alright, let’s keep going.”

…

Meeko and Percy had washed up in an empty rum barrel some one and a half miles south of Rolfe and Pocahontas. As they wandered through the forest in search of water, they had come upon a small meadow full of wildflowers where they had been reunited with Flit. The tiny bird had been blown by the ferocious storm winds half an hour’s walk into the unexplored forest. The moment Meeko caught sight of Flit, they darted towards each other and burst into mourning over their lost human friends. Percy on the other hand had his suspicions that they were not so far apart as the others’ imagined. He maintained an analytical demeanor, sniffing around the forest floor with all the mental focus of a sleuth. The pug essentially took the lead as a parched Meeko and forlorn hummingbird riding on the raccoon’s back followed dejectedly in his wake.

They had not gone but a few miles before Percy picked up some scents on a broken stick on the forest floor. There were other signs of human passing, small broken branches and partial boot prints in the sandy soil between patches of grass and daisies. The moment Percy’s nose confirmed that the scents belonged to Pocahontas and John Rolfe, he started yapping wildly and took off running through the woodland. Meeko and Flit perked up immediately, glanced at each other, and sped after him. They kept on the trail for miles, nearly running out of breath, until Percy virtually lost his voice from dehydration and excessive barking.

Flit was the first to catch up to the much slower humans. He emerged from a thicket chirping loudly and excitedly and began to encircle Pocahontas’s head fast as a flying bullet. “Flit!” she cried out, causing John Rolfe at her side to nearly tumble over in startlement. Rather Rolfe doubled over and held his head. The action startled Flit who buzzed over to Rolfe to see what was the matter. The man’s eyes were squeezed shut as if the daylight itself pained him. The hummingbird looked at Pocahontas just as Meeko and Percy burst through the brush. “Easy, boys! John has a brain injury,” Pocahontas warned, laying a hand on Rolfe’s shoulder.

Meeko and Percy cooed and whimpered respectively at the revelation, glancing at each other briefly with worried looks before they scurried over to sniff and examine John Rolfe. The Englishman cracked an eye open. “Meeko? Percy? You’re alive? I can’t believe… Oh!” he cried, falling to his knees. “I must be hallucinating,” he grumbled to himself, groaning in pain.

“No, John. I see them too,” Pocahontas ensured him. “Let’s take another break. Can you try to eat some more of the sweet nut? If not I’m giving it to the boys.”

Meeko and Percy immediately perked up, drooling at the statement. Rolfe grunted, “I’ll try.”

Pocahontas gave Rolfe a piece and he began to nibble on it before she fed Meeko and Percy too. Flit was not interested however as he had just filled up on nectar from wild flowers back in the meadow. After a few minutes of rest, Pocahontas rose and beckoned the group onward. “Come, we must find water. Preferably before nightfall,” she professed.

By midday Rolfe truly felt he could not travel another foot. It was much too hot and he was suffering with a combination of extreme nausea, dizziness, and head pain. Concerned and frustrated, Pocahontas turned to the hummingbird. “Flit, can you fly ahead and try to find a source of water for us? We’re desperate!” she pleaded, wiping the sweat from her brow.

“Yes,” Rolfe rasped, collapsing against the trunk of a shady oak tree. “If you can give me some small amount of hope that we’re traveling in the right direction, then I just might be able to push myself further… after a rest.” His face was bright red from the heat which worried Pocahontas immensely. Pocahontas sat near Rolfe and used a dry palm frond to fan him. “Thank you, love.”

Pocahontas smiled. “Flit will find something, he always does,” she said reassuringly.

They had not rested longer than twenty minutes by the time Flit returned, chirping excitedly. “By God, you found something?” Rolfe declared. The hummingbird nodded as he landed on Rolfe’s shoulder. “Oh dear Lord, thank you. God bless you, you small but extraordinary bird!”

“Is it further than a mile, Flit?” Pocahontas inquired, trying to get an idea of just how far they would have to travel. Flit nodded unfortunately. Pocahontas frowned. “Five miles?” Flit shook his head. “Oh, good! I think we can manage that. We’ll just take it nice and slow, John.”

Rolfe took a deep breath and nodded, trying painfully to rise once again with the help of both his walking stick and the tree trunk behind. “I can practically taste that water already,” he murmured.

“Yes, I’m going to gorge myself and then wash all this salt off,” Pocahontas added.

…

It took them a good two hours to travel the distance, breaking as frequently as they had to. Flit had lead them northwestward through steeper terrain and around thickets and the occasional trench. Sometimes they had to crawl on hands and knees to get where they were trying to go but they still managed it, taking time to rest after each difficult obstacle.

At last Pocahontas’s ears picked up the sound of rushing water. “John…? John! Do you hear that?!” she cried, panting in excitement.

Rolfe’s eyes popped open and he put a hand to his ear. “By God, I do! The river must be just over that yonder ridge,” he rasped, coughing a bit from the dryness in his throat.

“How do we get over it? I can’t climb that high with a bad ankle,” Pocahontas remarked worriedly. Flit beckoned them westward. “Is it more than a quarter mile to get around the ridge, Flit?” she inquired, receiving a nod. “Oh no! I’m so thirsty and my good leg is exhausted.”

Rolfe patted her shoulder. “Not to worry, my love. I’ll climb over the ridge and fill the empty skin for you. The distance will seem much less daunting once you’ve had something to drink.”

“Are you sure you feel up to the task, John?” Pocahontas inquired, even more worried about his physical state than she was about her own.

Rolfe looked up, sizing up the ridge that was their only barrier to refreshment. “I’m sure I can manage it. You might say the sound of running water has invigorated me.”

“Alright but be careful,” Pocahontas warned. “The last thing you need is more injuries.”

Meanwhile Meeko had already climbed the ridge and disappeared on the other side. Percy whimpered, more jealous of the raccoon’s agility than ever. Rolfe sighed and approached the near-vertical terrain, hefting himself painfully up using the projecting roots of a large oak tree. “Oh dear God, this is quite more difficult than I expected,” he heaved, gritting his teeth at the rising pressure in his head that his increased heart rate had inadvertently caused. Still he did not give up even when he felt like he was going to get sick. He found a rock to stand on with the tip of his boot and continued the ascent. Pocahontas stood by with her arms out as if she was trying to spot him to prevent a fall though she knew she would only get squashed under his weight if such a thing occurred. Still she could not help her anxiety as she watched him climb.

“Careful, John! Check to make sure that root is sturdy before you put all your weight onto it,” Pocahontas warned, pointing to the tuber above him in question.

He glanced back and gave her a strained smile. “I’ve got it. Thanks, love!” Eventually he made it to the top, panting like a dog as he collapsed on the uneven ground. “I made it,” he called breathlessly. He rolled onto hands and knees and crawled through some shrubbery before the beautiful, sparkling river itself came into view. It appeared to be one branch of a large and extensive delta system leading out to the sea. The blue water was truly a sight to behold but there was a large fallen log in the way. Meeko had no problem getting over it and Rolfe could already see the raccoon swimming around in the water on the other side. Rolfe knew he would have to walk a few meters west of it, just around a ninety degree bend in the river that was obscured with cattails and other water-dwelling plant life up ahead.

“Hurry, John! I’m dying of thirst!” Pocahontas called barely over the sound of the rushing water.

John Rolfe called back, “Certainly! Be right back!”

With his head down in weariness, Rolfe trudged through some muddy terrain until he made it to the line of cattails. He pulled the cattails apart, stepping through. The river’s edge was perfect. It looked nice and sturdy and not muddy. There were rushing water and skipping stones within easy reach. He fell shakily to his knees as he got there, cupping his hands to splash some cool water in his face and all over his head and hair. It was almost like he had strapped a big block of ice to his head to rapidly cool down his swollen, overheated brain. The feeling was pure bliss.

Things were looking up until Rolfe rose to his feet and reached into his pocket to fish out the empty skin. As it just so happened, his wandering eyes looked up just in time to meet another very human pair staring right back at his. A fully nude native woman stood in the middle of the tributary, her eyes widening in a mix of terror and shock at the sight of him. She was not standing more than ten feet from him. How had he not noticed her before? Once she spotted him, she let loose the most bloodcurdling scream he had ever heard as she tried to cover her nudity.

The very stunned Englishman yelped loud enough to almost rival her shriek, stumbled backwards, and dropped the empty skin he had been holding onto the river bank. In all his twenty-eight years of life experience, he had never seen a woman quite so completely bare in such bright, piercing daylight as this—not even his own late wife Sarah as they had enjoyed their time together by candlelight most of the time. Staring in horror, Rolfe tripped over a rock and landed on his posterior as the woman continued to scream. Immediately he rolled over and scrambled in the opposite direction. The moment he had successfully risen to his feet, he dashed through the cattails and made it back in the direction he had left Pocahontas. He tripped over a protruding root in the process and smashed his face on a partially rotten log, skinning his knee on a rough rock. He scarcely even noticed that his nose had begun to bleed as he essentially swung from a forest vine to get down off the ridge. Pocahontas was resting on a log when she spotted him, quite startled at his appearance. “John?! You’re bleeding!” she cried.

“Pocahontas, we need to get out of here right now!” Rolfe cried in a panic, hefting her up into his arms and bolting off in the direction they had come—though the speed of his run could be better described as a fast limp. Percy yelped and Flit squeaked as they rushed to follow the humans. It was not so much the woman that Rolfe was afraid of as the realization that she likely was not alone. Where there were women, there were villages—and where there were villages, there were warriors. It was the latter that Rolfe feared as he was in no condition to fight and he knew it.

“B-but what about the water?” Pocahontas cried, desperate. “And we left my crutches behind!”

Rolfe was out of breath as he tried to explain, “But there was a… You should have seen… Oh no! Pocahontas, we can’t go back there! We’ll have to find water further downstream or… or…” Rolfe and Pocahontas had not even made it a quarter of a mile before the Englishman had to slide to a halt as a very unexpected obstacle came into their path. Rolfe, Pocahontas, Percy, and Flit looked up in wide-eyed terror as a large dark-skinned warrior clad only in animal skins below the waist and carrying a large razor-sharp spear appeared out of the tree line, facing them down. He had a red mask tattooed over his eyes and hair tied back in a bun with two dyed eagle feathers. Rolfe’s heart nearly came to a stop as he had to stumble backwards, nearly falling on his rear end again but just barely managing to keep his footing for Pocahontas’s sake. “Oh no… No, no, no, no…” he murmured, his fearful eyes surveying the land for escape routes.

Percy hid behind Rolfe as everyone fell silent. Rolfe and Pocahontas stared at the warrior with dread and he stared back at them with what could only be described as a mix of surprise, confusion, and curiosity. Just then Meeko caught up with them though he froze solid the moment he laid eyes upon the unfamiliar native. Neither Rolfe nor Pocahontas noticed Meeko’s presence though. The man looked from Rolfe to Pocahontas and back to Rolfe again, taking in their entire appearances from top to bottom. Rolfe noticed that the man was carrying the empty skin he had dropped at the riverbank. The warrior switched the skin over to his left hand with the spear and met eyes with Pocahontas. Pointing at Rolfe with his right hand, he then brought it back to gesture over his own visage. “Cono me hulek adila?” he asked, again pointing to Rolfe.

John Rolfe and Pocahontas exchanged confused looks with each other. “What did he say?” Rolfe inquired, glancing back at the massively muscled figure.

“I… don’t know,” Pocahontas replied. “Whatever that language was, it was not Powhatan.”

Rolfe frowned, not taking his eyes off the man. “What? Really?”

“I think he might’ve been asking about your skin tone. It kind of sounded like a question.”

After another moment’s observation, the warrior stepped forward as if to get a better look at the Englishman. Rolfe jumped back, both him and his woman friend staring fearfully at the massive spear in the man’s grip. The warrior raised a brow and followed their line of sight to his own weapon. “A sune? Keta, keta!” he said. Dropping the spear, he held up his hands in a display of nonaggression. Both Pocahontas and Rolfe breathed a huge sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank the Lord,” Rolfe murmured. “He’s not going to kill us.” He glanced at Pocahontas. “Try talking to him in Powhatan,” he suggested, still keeping their distance.

Pocahontas did so but the warrior only shook his head, not understanding. Finally the local turned and waved his hand, beckoning the two of them to follow him. He pointed up the ridge and then beckoned them again. Pocahontas and John Rolfe raised brows and looked at each other questioningly. Seeing their confusion, the warrior mimed putting something in his mouth and then chewing. Again he beckoned them toward the ridge. Pocahontas’s eyes widened. “John, he’s offering us food,” she told him. Percy immediately perked up and yipped at the revelation but Rolfe looked more suspicious than anything.

“How can you be sure?” Rolfe inquired skeptically. “I-I mean, it could be a trick. What if they’re cannibals? Cannibals do exist, you know! We don’t know these people,” he insisted.

Pocahontas shook her head. “Something tells me we can trust this man. Please John, follow him. Do as he says,” she pleaded. “I’m going to faint if I don’t get a drink in the next five minutes.”

“A-al-alright, I suppose I can…” Rolfe replied, sniffling. He looked down, finally having felt the blood dripping down his face and onto his filthy shirt. He struggled to put all of Pocahontas’s weight in his right arm so he could reach into his pocket and pull out the handkerchief. Pocahontas held it to his face for him. “Thank you, love,” he said as he began to limp after the warrior. He hissed in pain and stopped, nearly doubling over with Pocahontas in his grip. “Ah, my knee! Oh, I feel the pain now. It’s come back with a vengeance after that foolish chase.”

The warrior noticed John Rolfe was having trouble. He stepped forth and handed Rolfe the empty skin. Then he held his arms out, offering to exchange it for Pocahontas. Rolfe looked hesitant but with Pocahontas’s encouragement he finally gave in and handed her over as he took back the bloody handkerchief in his own hand. The injured woman wrapped her arms around the warrior’s neck as he turned to hike back up toward the ridge. Suddenly the warrior stopped and looked back at John, pointing to his fallen spear. Rolfe stuffed the drinking skin in his pocket and picked up the spear as the warrior had indicated, using it as a walking stick. If talking was ineffective, then they would use body language for the time being.

Rolfe fought the intense pain as the warrior lead them to the ridge. The man pulled back some obscuring foliage to reveal a small staircase made of stones that lead diagonally up the steep terrain. “Ah, that would’ve made things easier…” Rolfe muttered. The warrior gestured him to go first so Rolfe gulped nervously and obeyed. The native man stayed not far behind with Pocahontas in his arms as Rolfe strained to climb up the narrow path. Once they made it to the top, the warrior managed to find an easier path to walk down to the riverbank. It was the exact spot where Rolfe had seen the unclothed woman though now there was no lady to be seen.

The brave put Pocahontas down gently on a rock right next to the rushing water. She took advantage of the situation by wading into the water, crab-walking to protect her wounded ankle. She breathed a sigh of ecstasy as the cool water surrounded her sweaty, salty, overheated form and then sunk her head in for a drink. She could not remember the last time she had felt so refreshed. Meanwhile the warrior turned his attention to Rolfe which unnerved the Englishman to no end. Rolfe stepped back slightly and squeezed his eyes shut, snapping them open in surprise when the warrior took him firmly by the bicep. The man relieved Rolfe of the spear, dropping the weapon to the ground, and then lead the Brit over to the water’s edge.

Rolfe was made to partially kneel by the riverbank though the bending pained his knee. The warrior knelt beside him and used his free hand to cup water from the river, bringing it up to Rolfe’s face to wash away the blood and dirt. Pocahontas smiled when she saw what they were doing. “Come in and wash the salt out of your hair, John. It feels amazing,” she offered.

“In a moment,” John Rolfe replied nasally, snorting out some of the water. The warrior allowed him to rise again and he began examining the Englishman’s hand, comparing it to his own in fascination. He flipped it over several times to see both sides with a look of deep curiosity, almost wonderment, on his face. “Um… ahem,” Rolfe spoke, trying to pull away so he could join Pocahontas in the river. He pointed to the water where Pocahontas was and the warrior nodded and let him go. Slowly and gingerly he waded into the water, heaving a rapturous sigh once he reached Pocahontas’s location. He allowed himself to sink until he was completely submerged, letting the cool water wash away the salt that stung the cut on his scalp.

Rolfe drank heavily during the plunge and then rose back to the surface, gently flipping his hair back so he could meet eyes with Pocahontas. “Feel better?” she inquired, grinning.

“Oh, yes. It certainly felt like my brain was on fire before. The head still hurts but it’s so much more tolerable now, plus the nausea is gone,” Rolfe expressed. Cupping his hands, he brought more water to his lips and drank. “Best-tasting water I’ve ever drunk,” he sighed, taking the skin out of his pocket and filling it. He hooked it to his belt under the water.

Pocahontas leaned in and kissed John Rolfe, leaving no lingering doubts as to the nature of their relationship in the native warrior’s mind as he watched in interest leaning against a nearby pine tree. Pocahontas glanced over at him briefly as Rolfe dove again. When the Englishman resurfaced, she gestured to the warrior and said, “Let’s try not to keep our new friend waiting too long. I think he intends to bring us somewhere to get sustenance.”

“Right,” Rolfe replied. “Almost done.” He drank some more water and washed the salt out of his hair. “Alright, I’m ready to go.” He picked Pocahontas up and carried her out of the water, placing her on the same boulder the warrior had placed her on. He began to wring out his own sopping wet clothes as the warrior approached them again with an inquisitive look on his face. He lifted the startled Englishman’s chin up so he could look directly into Rolfe’s eyes, first narrowing his own eyes and then widening them in amazement at the fop’s leaf-green pupils.

Pocahontas laughed. “I think this is the first time he’s ever seen a foreigner, John,” she remarked.

Rolfe snorted, flashing her a look. “At least up close,” he replied, feeling the warrior turn his face back so their eyes were yet again forced to meet. The native man also used his fingertips to touch the stubble on Rolfe’s face as if it was the strangest texture he had ever felt.

After a few awkward moments, the warrior finally stepped back and pointed to his own chest. “Siwili,” he said in a clear voice. “Siwili,” he said again.

“Siwili,” Rolfe repeated curiously. The warrior then pointed to John Rolfe’s chest and raised a brow. Rolfe looked down at his chest in confusion at first. “Oh! My name,” he replied when it finally dawned on him. He put his own hand on his chest and said, “John.”

The warrior’s face crinkled at first as if the name was quite odd to him. “Dddjjjaaahhhn?” he attempted as if the j-sound was completely alien. “Djahn. Hnn.”

“Close enough,” Rolfe replied with a shrug. He pointed down to Pocahontas who was seated on the boulder trying to unsuccessfully brush her hair out with her fingers. “Pocahontas,” he said.

The warrior pointed to the Powhatan woman. “Pocahontas,” he repeated perfectly the first time as if the longer name was a no-brainer. “Pocahontas.”

“That’s right,” Rolfe replied. He pointed down to the pug dog near Pocahontas. “Percy.”

The warrior scratched his own face and repeated “Percy” as he glanced down at the tiny canine.

John Rolfe pointed to the bewildered raccoon. “Meeko.”

“Meeko,” the warrior said.

Rolfe held his pointer finger up horizontally so the hummingbird could perch on it. He pointed to the bird with his free hand. “Flit,” he said.

“Fff-lit. Flit.”

Flit chirped amiably at Siwili. Suddenly John Rolfe dropped his hand and brought it to his head, causing the bird to fly over to Pocahontas and glance back at Rolfe in concern. “John, are you alright?” Pocahontas inquired worriedly, reaching out for him.

The warrior noticed as well and took hold of Rolfe’s bicep to steady him. The Englishman groaned. “I’ve had better days,” he admitted. Siwili kicked the spear up into his free hand and offered it to Rolfe to help the man balance himself. “Thanks,” Rolfe replied, accepting it.

Siwili went over and hefted Pocahontas up from the rock, beckoning Rolfe and the animals to follow behind him. They had to cross a section of the tributary with a path made out of boulders. The warrior hopped from one to another gracefully and effortlessly with Pocahontas in his arms. Rolfe on the other hand leaned heavily on the spear to help himself get from one stone to another. Despite how slow he went, the warrior was willing to stop and wait for him every few paces. They hiked through a small clearing, up an incline, through some bushes, and finally they had to cross another section of tributary—this time through the shallow water as there were no boulders to hop across on. After another quarter mile or so, they finally pushed through a tree line and arrived on the bank of a very wide and slow-moving section of the river. There was a very long canoe with two paddles lying on the bank but that was not the first thing Rolfe saw.

To the right of Siwili and Pocahontas and standing over the canoe was one familiar set of eyes that stared back at Rolfe, first with a look of surprise. It was the very same woman he had seen at the tributary earlier, now fully clad in a sleeveless buckskin dress that went down to her mid-calves. When the woman caught sight of him, her surprise quickly turned to rage as she narrowed her eyes dangerously at the petrified Englishman. Rolfe swallowed a lump in his throat.


	12. Tribal Remedies

****The woman lunged at John Rolfe, shouting at him in her tongue which he understood not a word of. Not knowing what to do, he dropped the spear and held his hands up to ward her off. All she did ultimately when she got to him was push him over. He stumbled backwards, hitting his head on a tree trunk. It was not a hard hit but it was exactly in the wrong spot—where the bruise was. He cried out and brought both hands to his head as she stood over him brandishing a fist.

Seeing this set Pocahontas to an instant rage. “Hey, get away from him! How dare you touch him! Leave him alone!” she snapped, kicking wildly in the bewildered warrior’s arms.

Siwili quickly set Pocahontas down on a stump and turned around, rushing toward the feud to try and diffuse the situation. Meanwhile Percy inserted himself between John Rolfe and the irate woman, yapping and growling at her to back off from the Englishman. She did indeed jump back and squeal in shock at the bizarre breed of canine just before her husband was able to take her by the arm. He began harshly rebuking her for her actions. She glared at Siwili and tried to pull her arm away, hissing something back at him and then pointing furiously to Rolfe.

The warrior shook his head. He spoke calmly but firmly as he pointed to the canoe and gave the woman a shove in its direction. She snorted and walked over to the boat, griping to herself. Then she began throwing their supplies into the canoe which consisted of a pot of fresh fish, another of ripe berries, a beaver, goose, and large fishing net. Siwili turned his attention to Rolfe who had managed to push himself into a sitting position as he held his head in pain. Pocahontas stood up and hopped over to them as the warrior offered Rolfe a hand. “Siwili!” she said, gaining his attention. “Be careful. He is hurt.” When she reached them, she sat by Rolfe and glanced up at the warrior. She mimed hitting herself hard on the head and then pointed to Rolfe.

Siwili raised a brow. Pocahontas sighed in frustration and took Rolfe’s head in her hands, pulling his own hand away so she could show the warrior where the lump was. Parting his wet hair carefully, she pointed out the black and blue area where a scabbed-over cut could be seen contrasting sharply with the rest of the man’s pale white scalp. The warrior’s eyes widened as Pocahontas again thumped herself on the head and feigned a look of wooziness to help him get the idea. Siwili nodded his head in comprehension. He knelt down and scooped the Englishman up, carrying him over to the canoe. “Wait, no! I can walk!” Rolfe protested, squirming.

“Just relax, John,” Pocahontas told him.

The craft appeared to have enough room to seat four people as well as some supplies in the slots between the seats. Rolfe was placed in the second seat to the rear of the canoe. Siwili then returned for Pocahontas, helping her into the third to rear seat. Meeko and Percy jumped into the canoe after their human companions and Flit perched on Pocahontas’s shoulder. “We’re going on a boat ride?” Rolfe inquired, glancing around with squinted eyes.

“It would seem so,” Pocahontas replied. “I guess this is the only way to get to these people’s village.” She caught the other woman glaring at Rolfe again and Pocahontas looked back at him as well. “John, do you have any idea what her problem is? She seems so mean-spirited.”

Rolfe sighed. “Yes, Pocahontas. Unfortunately I know precisely what her problem is. We had a… regrettable encounter by the river. I’m guessing she’s the one who sent Siwili after us… well, after me.” The aforementioned warrior glanced over when he heard Rolfe say his name.

Pocahontas raised a brow. “What happened?”

“Well,” Rolfe began, abashed. “I had walked up the river a bit because there was a log in the way where I was. So I went through some tall grasses and found a nice spot. I wasn’t paying particularly close attention to my surroundings, I admit. I knelt on the bank and splattered water over my face. When I stood up to get the skin out of my pocket for you, I found I was standing not ten feet away from that woman. And she was… well, um… How do you put it? She was…”

“She was what?”

Rolfe squeezed his eyes shut. “Sh-she was bathing and… didn’t have any clothes on, you see.” As soon as the revelation hit, Pocahontas fell stark silent. Rolfe got anxious about the quietude and looked over to her. His face was crimson. “It was the last thing I was expecting or hoping to see. I swear it, Pocahontas! I just wanted water! Water!” he cried defensively. Pocahontas exchanged gazes with Meeko, then Percy, and then Flit. They all four glanced back at Rolfe and burst out laughing. “It’s not funny, Pocahontas! Have you got any idea how embarrassing that is? I could’ve died right then and there! And then she started screaming her head off. Better we don’t acknowledge each other’s existence from now on. Hopefully she’ll just ignore me.”

“It is funny, John,” Pocahontas countered, hiding her mouth with her hands as she snorted to herself. Siwili hooked his spear to the side of the canoe, glancing briefly at the laughing girl in curiosity. Once his wife had seated herself in the front position, he pushed the canoe into the water and hopped in himself. The canoe sunk low from the heavy load but still remained afloat. The warrior’s paddling provided the power and his wife’s provided the steering. There were only two paddles. Otherwise Pocahontas would have offered to help. Instead she decided to spend her time trying to entertain Rolfe who was obviously feeling sicker and sicker as the day wore on. “Look, John, baby turtles,” she said, pointing into the water. A line of little green-and-black water turtles swam by the side of the canoe. Siwili was careful not to hit them with his oar.

John Rolfe glanced up with misery written all over his face. “I’m sure they’d be much more adorable if I wasn’t in so much pain,” he grumbled, rubbing his face with his hands.

Pocahontas reached back and rubbed his shoulder. “With any luck, these people will have a medicine man or woman in their village. Hopefully he or she will be able to help.”

…

The upriver canoe ride took much longer than Pocahontas or Rolfe had anticipated. It was early evening by the time what looked like cultivated cornfields came into view. Both Rolfe and Pocahontas’s clothes had completely dried out by then from sun exposure. “John, look. I think we’re almost there,” Pocahontas remarked, pointing. Rolfe had nearly fallen asleep in his seat but he looked up with slightly blurred eyes when Pocahontas indicated their location. Meeko and Percy were leaning over the side of the canoe trying to get a better look.

Women who were working the cornfields, some with babies strapped to their backs, stopped and came to the edge of the water when the canoe and its passengers came into sight. It was not until they took a right turn around a slight river bend that the first hut came into view. The huts of this tribe were circular rather than oblong like the wigwams of Pocahontas’s village. Roofs were slightly overarching and distinct from the walls. They appeared to be made out of saplings and dried grasses among other ingredients. Siwili raised a flat palm in the air in greeting as curious men, women, and children began to gather at the shore—some calling others over.

Some of the youngest children were running around in the buff but Rolfe was too out of it to notice or care. He rubbed his eyes as they came into shore, Siwili’s irritated wife shooing some of the crowd out of the way. Siwili himself stepped into the water and pushed the canoe up onto the riverbank. Meeko jumped out of the canoe and started sniffing around the people on the bank in search of food. On the other hand, Percy was much shier. He cowered in Pocahontas’s lap, whimpering. Flit buzzed overhead, observing the scenario and watching for signs of hostility.

The smell of cooking food and burning herbs stirred Pocahontas’s appetite but she decided to stay put until someone came to help her out of her seat. She was glad to see that Siwili was tending to John Rolfe first. The warrior offered Rolfe his two hands to rise and when the Brit accepted, Siwili pulled him quickly and deftly up to his feet. Then he helped Rolfe step out of the canoe. The Englishman was wobbly on his feet but Siwili helped him stay standing.

The riverbank was bordered by a shallow incline with patches of cattails that lead up to where the huts were distributed through partially forested terrain. It was not unlike Pocahontas’s own village albeit with fewer bluffs, rocks, and cliffs. There was a central area near the top of one low hill with uniquely painted totem poles which appeared to be the village’s gathering place. A huge stack had already been built up in the fire pit for the evening’s festivities though it was yet to be set ablaze. After scanning their surroundings, Pocahontas’s gaze fell on the crowd again.

All eyes were on John Rolfe. Siwili had to shoo some curious children and even young adults away that were trying to touch him. The warrior pulled one of Rolfe’s arms over his own shoulders to help the concussed man walk. Then Siwili signaled to Pocahontas to stay put, pointing to the village and then the canoe again to indicate he would be back to help her. She nodded her understanding. The warrior assisted the limping Brit up the hill and the two disappeared over a slope, a crowd of chattering onlookers following in their wake.

Meanwhile Siwili’s wife began to unload the material contents of the canoe. She handed the clay pot of fish to another woman, same with the berries. She herself grabbed the goose, beaver, and fishing net and retreated toward a hut not far from the river’s bank. “Cono me luhelek do ra mutizo?” one young girl, about ten, addressed Pocahontas. She appeared to be under the impression that Pocahontas spoke their language. The Powhatan woman could only shake her head, causing the inquisitive youngster to frown in disappointment. Some of the villagers gained an interest in Pocahontas’s bizarre belongings—namely the trousers, boot, and machete she bore on her person. Pocahontas did not know how to explain where she had gotten the items but she allowed the people to look and even touch to help them satisfy their curiosity.

…

Rolfe leaned heavily on Siwili as the warrior lead him through part of the village and then on a narrow path that lead up to a more secluded spot on a hill not far from the rest of the huts. Upon that hill rested a little herb garden snuggled against a slightly bigger-than-usual hut. There were dried herbs of all kinds hanging from the eaves of the hut’s roof all around the structure and an animal skin was hung over the door to obscure the interior. Three warriors, four women, and two of the village’s boldest children had trailed them to the location wanting to get a better look at the visitor with bizarre clothes and even more bizarre features. Still Siwili would gently swat their hands away whenever they tried to grab or poke at Rolfe's skin, hair, or clothes.

As soon as they reached the hut, Siwili came to a stop outside the buckskin curtain and made a bird-like whistling sound. An elderly woman with braided gray hair that reached her waist appeared in the doorway, her eyes widening at the sight of the white man. The two exchanged words in their native tongue with Siwili briefly gesturing to the back of Rolfe’s head. The woman nodded and held the curtain aside, allowing them to enter the hut. Inside was a central fire pit. The medium-sized flames warmed a clay pot and the scent of a tasty stew filled the hut’s interior. Herbal incense burned near the fire as well, the sweet aroma wafting through the air.

Siwili sat Rolfe on an animal skin near the fire and helped the medicine woman pull a wooden frame down from the rafters of the hut’s structure. There were several such frames stored up there. Each were about six feet long, three feet wide and one foot in height with two handles on each end. They appeared to be medical cots or stretchers built out of strong sticks and twine. Siwili placed the cot near the wall and began to cover it with thick animal furs, making a sort of bedding. The pillow consisted of a stuffed beaver skin placed at one end. When it was ready, Siwili pulled Rolfe to his feet and helped him seat himself gingerly on the cot. It was soft enough to be to Rolfe’s liking though he was still in sufficient pain to be fairly uncomfortable.

The medicine woman got to work on a concoction by the fire that consisted of water, herbs, and some kind of powder mixed in a small clay pot. She pushed another dry stick or two under the frame supporting the pottery and fanned the flames higher as she set the potion to heat. Siwili had retrieved another such cot from the rafters and set it near Rolfe’s bed. The Englishman hoped  it was for Pocahontas. He kicked off his boots and pulled off his socks, sticking them inside the boots before he shoved the boots against the wall. He did the same with his pocket contents, save the handkerchief, pushing them against the wall to keep them out of the way.

Rolfe barely noticed when Siwili left with a pair of well-made crutches. He returned with a limping Pocahontas but a few minutes later who was happily using her new walking aids. She was pleased to see Rolfe sitting on a comfortable surface but noticed immediately that he seemed down. “John, do you feel alright?” she inquired, receiving a quick shake of the head.

Rolfe winced at the motion. “I’m starting to get confused again. Right before you got here I sort of fell into a partial dream state where I saw chickens running around everywhere.”

Pocahontas frowned. She leaned her crutches against the wall and sat down beside Rolfe on his cot, placing a hand on his forehead. “How bad is the pain right now on a scale of one to ten?”

“Seven and rising,” Rolfe replied, rubbing his face in exasperation.

“Maybe you should try to lie down,” Pocahontas advised.

Rolfe groaned. “I’d rather not. I don’t think it’ll relieve anything. But I’ll do it if the doctor lady tells me to,” he indicated, pointing to the medicine woman working at the fire. She looked up and smiled with a warm, welcoming expression on her wrinkled face.

Siwili came into the hut with a couple of logs which he placed down on the firewood pile near the opposite wall. “Pocahontas, Djahn,” he said, gaining their attentions. He pointed to the medicine woman. “Inola,” he said. Then he pointed at himself, “Siwili,” and back at her, “Inola.”

“In-a-what?” John Rolfe replied.

Pocahontas giggled. “He says her name is Inola, John. The ‘doctor lady’ you pointed out.”

“Oh,” Rolfe hesitated. “That’s a pretty name.”

“Yes, I think so too.”

While there were all manner of herbs, tubers, and other medical items hung from the rafters, there were also a series of shelves built against the wall to the right of the firewood. Various items lined the shelves, generally things that were used in rituals such as decorated masks and the like. Siwili rose to his tiptoes and brought a basket down off the top shelf, pulling a strange rock attached to a length of beaded twine out of the basket. “Hemio to ta to kalé Songaa,” Siwili uttered to Inola, receiving a nod of understanding as he handed Inola the item.

She stuffed it in her pouch and answered back, “Hemele no Songaa.” The woman’s potion had begun to steam so she took it off the fire and began to fan it to cool it down. The concoction contributed a bittersweet scent to the air in the hut. She pointed to Pocahontas. “Pocahon?”

“Pocahontas,” Siwili clarified.

Inola nodded. “Pocahontas la homa déos,” she said, pointing to the pot of stew.

Siwili got a clay bowl and spoon from the bottom shelf and scooped a good helping of stew into it, handing it over to Pocahontas. It smelled divine and she was more than just a little starved. “Thank you!” she said enthusiastically, receiving a nod in reply. She gently blew on each spoonful before shoving it into her mouth. It was a mix of hominy, vegetables, and meat and she enjoyed every bite. Meeko and Percy came over to sniff the food in curiosity.

Siwili filled two bowls with other victuals like corn, dried fish, and some kind of sweet berries and offered them to the animals. Naturally Meeko tried to steal Percy’s portion but Pocahontas, having learned from Rolfe, prevented the thievery from taking place.

Siwili set about collecting a few thick furs into his arms that had been folded up on the shelves and piled them onto the second cot, preparing the bedding much in the same way he had prepared Rolfe’s. He pointed to Pocahontas and then patted the surface of it to let her know it was for her use. Pocahontas smiled and set her bowl on the ground momentarily so she could scoot over onto her own bed. “It’s comfortable. Thank you,” she said, taking up the bowl again. She glanced at Rolfe who was now in the cot next to hers. “How is your appetite, John?”

“Not so good,” he admitted. “My body feels like it needs something but I don’t think my stomach could handle it,” he added miserably, stooping over with his head in his hands.

Pocahontas leaned forward to rub his back. “When they offer you food, I want you to try to eat something. Okay?” she pleaded, receiving a slow nod. When Inola’s steaming potion had cooled sufficiently she brought it over to the two. The medicine woman sat next to Pocahontas, placing a hand on Rolfe’s knee to get his attention. He raised his head and she offered him the concoction, miming a drinking action. Rolfe nodded and took it from her. The hard clay was very warm, almost hot in his hands. He leaned his head back and drank a small amount. “How is it?”

“It’s like some kind of tea,” Rolfe remarked. “Slightly bitter but also slightly sweet.”

Inola mimed drinking again. “I think she wants you to drink all of it,” Pocahontas noted.

John Rolfe began drinking again, taking breaks after every few large gulps. His eyelids began to feel heavy and Pocahontas could tell. “I feel oddly serene,” Rolfe observed.

“And your head?” Pocahontas asked.

Rolfe yawned. “The pain seems to be going down rather than up now. I think. Slowly. What was I saying?” He giggled almost childishly as Inola took the empty pot from him.

“Never mind,” Pocahontas replied, her question having been answered.

Somehow the texture of the fur on Rolfe's bed kept him highly amused for the next five minutes until another new face appeared in the doorway. It was a thin elderly man with stark white hair that was tied in two braids descending down his shoulders. “Songaa!” Inola declared with enthusiasm, rising to her feet. She went over and kissed him, then pointed to the Englishman. “Gynoho ma hoda télali.” Pocahontas thought the two of them might be married. What a privileged village to have both a medicine man and a medicine woman in its midst.

When the old man caught sight of John Rolfe, his eyes filled with amazement. He walked over and knelt down by the cots, taking one of the Englishman’s hands into his own to examine it. Pocahontas watched as he touched Rolfe’s hair and examined his eyes in the same way Siwili had previously. One of Rolfe’s eyelids was halfway shut and he had a small but silly grin on his face as the unfamiliar individual inspected him. “‘Ello, sir,” Rolfe greeted, giving a salute.

The old man glanced back at his wife. After exchanging a few words with her, she indicated the back of her head to denote the kind of injury the Brit had. Pocahontas decided to assist by pulling Rolfe’s head down and revealing the lump so the medicine man could get a good look at it. His eyes widened and he nodded his head in understanding as Pocahontas released Rolfe.

Inola pointed to the old man. “Songaa,” she said.

“Songaa?” Pocahontas repeated.

Inola nodded. She pointed to herself, “Inola,” she pointed to the Powhatan woman, “Pocahontas,” and then she pointed to the old man again, “Songaa.”

“Oh, his name,” Pocahontas replied, understanding. “Songaa. Son-gaaaa.”

Inola smiled and Rolfe raised a brow. “What’s that?” he asked.

“She says his name is Songaa,” Pocahontas indicated, pointing to the medicine man.

“Oh?” John Rolfe replied. “Lovely.”

Inola set some more herbs to burn in a small bowl placed near the cots that John Rolfe and Pocahontas were seated on. She made a reluctant Rolfe consume a small cup of the stew before they moved on to their next ‘procedure.’ Inola took the stone on a beaded string that Siwili had given her and handed it to Songaa. The medicine man in turn pulled up a sitting mat by Rolfe’s cot, gently pushing Pocahontas’s further away to make more room. Inola went outside to summon someone. A few minutes later, Siwili and Inola reentered the hut together. Siwili made it over to Rolfe’s side and knelt down next to him as Songaa began a chant. He started to swing the stone to and fro from the beaded twine, holding it up so Rolfe had a good view of it.

The Englishman’s eyes naturally began to follow the dark stone. Carved intricately, it shined in the gold-orange firelight as it swung like the pendulum of a grandfather clock. Pocahontas watched the stone at first but then she gained more interest in the effect it was having on Rolfe. He seemed to slump a bit, a hypnotic look on his face. Siwili held onto him to keep him upright. The pitch of Songaa’s chant seemed to rise as the words sped up though the stone maintained a constant swing. As the chant ended, Rolfe’s eyeballs joggled and rolled back in his head. Songaa handed the stone to Inola and helped Siwili lie Rolfe down on his side, facing the hut’s entrance.

Pocahontas was startled when Rolfe lost consciousness though the others’ actions indicated that it was supposed to happen. She pulled her one boot off and removed the unnecessary trousers, leaving herself in her comfortable buckskin dress. She stashed her belongings, including her machete, against the wall next to Rolfe’s stuff. It was only then that she noticed Rolfe had taken off his boots. She glanced at his feet, seeing them bare for the very first time. Out of pure curiosity, she was about to reach over and touch them when instead Inola came over and began rubbing them with some kind of scented oil or salve. Pocahontas laid back on her own cot right before the two men in the room used the handles to move her bed closer to Rolfe’s. The Powhatan woman yawned as Meeko curled up beside her and Flit on top of Meeko. Percy snuggled up at the foot of Rolfe’s bed as soon as Inola moved to rub salve on his hands.

When Inola finished with Rolfe, she moved to the foot of Pocahontas’s bed and gently took hold of the injured ankle. Pocahontas nodded her consent and watched as Inola removed the bindings and gently massaged the area with the same salve. She rewrapped the ankle with a long strip of soft doeskin afterwards and pointed to the stew pot, inquiring by body language if Pocahontas wanted more to eat. Pocahontas shook her head and soon dozed off.

…

Pocahontas awoke hours later when night had fallen. The sounds of drums, chants, and feasting in the village pervaded the hut, stirring her curiosity. She sat up in bed and stretched, snapping her gaze toward the door when she heard low muttering. There were two curious villagers, a man and a woman, poking their heads in to get a peek at John Rolfe. As expected the two were in awe of what they were seeing as they whispered enthusiastically among themselves.

Another warrior ushered them out of the way, uttering something in an annoyed tone of voice. He stopped and peeked in himself, his eyes widening at what he saw. Without breaking his stunned gaze, he waved his arm in a beckoning gesture. A young girl child came to join him, presumably his daughter. He lifted her up so she could get a better look, given that Pocahontas and her cot were partially blocking the view. It was then Pocahontas came to realize that there was a whole line of people outside waiting to glance in and see John Rolfe as he slept unawares.

Pocahontas’s lip curled upwards in slight amusement at the notion. She scooted down her own cot so the young girl could get a look at Rolfe’s face. _“Uno mek uneto téa!”_ she exclaimed in a loud whisper. Her father hushed her and put her back down on her feet, pushing her along so the next people in line could have a look. Pocahontas again began to try and brush her hair out with her fingers. It was terribly matted and she could only imagine how impossible it would be if she still had her long hair. The next pair of onlookers were a mother and her adolescent son.

The two stood aside momentarily so Inola could enter the hut again. The medicine woman noticed that Pocahontas had roused and was trying to brush her hair so she picked something out of a basket on the shelves and offered it to Pocahontas. It turned out to be a porcupine tail hairbrush. “Thank you!” Pocahontas replied, smiling at the old woman as she accepted the item. She began to brush her matted hair out. The chore took a good fifteen minutes but Pocahontas felt immensely relieved once she had finished the job and was tangle-free.

Glancing down at Rolfe, still asleep, she decided to brush his hair too. She sat on the side of his bed and started at the matted ends, slowly and gently working her way up. She was careful not to pull too hard or aggravate the lump on the back of his head as she worked her way through the tangles. The villagers who witnessed the act found it very interesting. It took another fifteen minutes but eventually Pocahontas worked all the tangles out of John Rolfe’s hair. She cleaned the brush of hair and threw the hair into the fire, returning the brush to Inola.

Meeko and Flit had roused by the time Pocahontas felt ready to venture out of the hut and experience the locals’ culture firsthand. She had already risen with the help of her new crutches when Siwili made an appearance, smiling when he noticed that one of the patients was up and about. She smiled back and waved to him. “Hello, Siwili.”

“Pocahontas,” he replied.

Inola said something to Siwili as she pointed over to John Rolfe. The warrior took an alighted stick out of the fire pit. He walked over to John Rolfe and pulled one of the dormant man’s eyelids open, waving the light source around to see how Rolfe’s pupils reacted. Siwili then returned the stick to the fire and checked Rolfe’s pulse and breathing as well. This protocol got Pocahontas wondering if Siwili was the medicinal apprentice of Songaa and Inola or perhaps their son. On further thought, she noticed that Siwili had a pretty similar jaw structure to Songaa.

Apparently satisfied, Siwili rose and returned his attention to Pocahontas. He beckoned her outside with him and held the curtain aside as she limped out. They both greeted the small crowd there with smiles and nods. A few of the small children who had been hanging around and playing outside the medicinal hut got up and followed Pocahontas and Siwili to the feast.

There had to be nearly fifty people gathered in the area encircling four swift dancers who pranced around the central bonfire. The roaring red light burned brightly against the black of night, obscuring the stars in the clear sky overhead. Scents wafted through the air, all kinds of aromas of cooking and cooked food. Roasted turkey parts were passed around on a large ceramic dish. Hominy, maize-stuffed fish, venison dumplings made from pounded wild grains, ripe berries, persimmon, pawpaw, raw oysters, nuts and sunflower seeds, roasted maize on the cob, cornbread, all kinds of smoked meat, and fritters were a few of the items on the menu.

When Meeko saw all of this, his mouth began to water as he quickly snuck away to nab as much sustenance as his two arms and two cheeks could carry. Pocahontas had not even entered the crowd yet as she observed the local dress. Women wore their hair long and wavy down their backs, even longer than Pocahontas’s hair had once been. It seemed as if they never bothered to cut it. Some of the women even had hair down to their knees. In her own village, Pocahontas’s long hair had rather been an anomaly as most Powhatan women kept theirs shorter than pelvis-length. The local men on the other hand kept their hair tied up in buns to keep it out of their faces while hunting. Both sexes featured intricate and multicolored tattoos all over their bodies. Siwili, Siwili’s wife, Songaa, and Inola were rather unique in that they all four had minimal tattooing. Pocahontas wondered if the fewer tattoos were a feature of the medicinal trade in the culture. 

Male children who were old enough to wear clothes, generally aged five and up, wore their hair in buns like their fathers did. Female children and the very young wore their hair down. The dancers near the bonfire were strikingly dressed with colorful dyed skins, corncobs and husks, or animal skins and horns. All had elaborately painted bodies. Jewelry of seashells, stones, carved wood, and painted animal bones were common among adolescents and adults.

As soon as they reached the group, Siwili introduced Pocahontas to a few people and got her a ceramic dinner plate. Dish-bearers began generously offering her different food items to try and it was not long before she had filled up on fish, berries, and cornbread. She sat on a stump and watched the exotic dances as curious children and adolescents gathered around her. One thing Pocahontas noted was the absence of a chief. She was unsure if this was because they did not have one or simply because he was away. It was about this time of year that Chief Powhatan and some followers would be traveling from village to village gathering tribute from his subjects. Pocahontas had accompanied her father on this quest more than once even though it was considered unusual for non-warriors to do so. It was also during this journey that people were able to give tribute and gifts to the most accomplished warriors who traveled with the chief.

A couple hours later the formal dancers had gone. There were still a few older children and other celebrants dancing to softer music but it seemed the people of the village were getting tired and beginning to retire. The youngest children had gone to bed and almost all the feast had been consumed. Flit had been hanging out on Pocahontas’s shoulder for a while but she had no clue where Meeko had scurried off to. She was getting tired so she rose with the help of her crutches and limped off to find Meeko. “See if you can spot him for me, Flit,” she said, sending the hummingbird off on his mission. By the time she had wandered around the perimeter of the thinning crowd, Flit returned in a frenzy and chirped at Pocahontas to follow him.

Indeed Flit had found Meeko. The raccoon had passed out on a tree limb near the riverbank, bloated beyond all recognition. Bones, cobs, and nut shells were scattered on the ground near the trunk. Pocahontas smiled and shook her head in amusement. “Meeeeeeeko,” she called up to him. “Do you want to come with us or are you planning to crash there for the night?” Upon hearing her voice, Meeko cooed and looked down at her with lethargic eyes. “I’d think furs would be a bit more comfortable,” she laughed, placing a few fingers over her mouth to try and hide her amusement. Flit’s snickering was not particularly helping either.

Meeko seemed to utter a groan but gradually he rolled over and clambered his way down the tree. When the three of them got back to the remedial hut, Songaa and Inola had set up their own bedding on the ground near the fire opposite the cots. They covered the dirt with woven mats and then placed their clean furs on top of that. Songaa was asleep but Inola was still up, cleaning out the stew pot for the next day’s meal. When she caught sight of Pocahontas, she nodded to her in greeting. John Rolfe was still passed out on his bed though his spectators had all but retired.

Pocahontas kissed Rolfe goodnight before snuggling back into her own bed with Meeko and Flit and falling into a deep and dreamless sleep.

…

About a third of the village, namely the warriors, woke up the next morning before the crack of dawn to go hunting. It was at this time that Songaa and Inola roused, fully rested, and began the day’s work. Songaa himself disappeared out of the hut soon enough, possibly to collect herbs in the forest. Inola’s work was more domestic and it was her soft shuffling noises that caused Pocahontas to awaken bright and early as well. The medicine woman was already hard at work preparing breakfast. She had the fire going strong and was busy mixing peas and beans into the stew pot. Pocahontas got up to assist her by skinning and cutting up yams among other tasks. It was still early morning when Siwili arrived with his wife. He bore five dead quails in his left hand. His wife was carrying a basket of shelled hickory nuts in one arm and another full of fresh blackberries in the other. The woman’s angered demeanor of the prior day seemed to have vanished as she greeted Inola in a friendly tone, handing over her offerings. Siwili introduced her to Pocahontas as “Awenasa” while he roasted the quails over the fire pit.

By the time the sun was all the way up, the four of them had prepared a morning feast consisting of stewed vegetables, roast quail, cornbread, nuts, and berries. Perhaps it was the delightful aroma that caused John Rolfe to stir. When Pocahontas heard a soft noise behind her, she glanced back over her shoulder and saw Rolfe flop over on his other side and stretch. She was sure he was about to get up but he only seemed to relax and fall back asleep after that. Siwili prepared a place for him to sit by the fire and then went over to the cot, shaking him gently. Rolfe only groaned slightly so Siwili carefully pulled him up into a sitting position and helped him to his feet, ushering him over to his place by the fire. “Huetéc tega, Djahn.”

John Rolfe’s eyes were still closed as he was seated. He crinkled his rosy face and reached up to rub his eyes before he cracked one open and beheld the impressive repast before him, breathing out a relaxed sigh. “Good morning, John,” Pocahontas greeted him as she ate her own breakfast. Siwili sat back down next to Awenasa to eat as well. The woman, perched between her husband and Inola, was staring curiously at Rolfe as she ate. “How do you feel?”

“Hungry,” Rolfe murmured. He picked up his bowl of stew and began spooning it into his mouth, trying not to eat too fast as the food was still very hot.

Pocahontas smiled. “That’s a huge improvement.”

“Mm. How long have I been asleep?”

“Since yesterday evening,” Pocahontas replied, eating a handful of sweet berries. Though they stained her hands terribly, they were absolutely delicious at the peak of ripeness.

Rolfe blinked. “Oh, good. Not too terribly long.” He noticed the roast quail and pointed at it. “What’s that? It looks quite appealing,” he remarked, licking his lips.

“That’s a roast quail. Siwili caught them this morning,” Pocahontas explained.

Rolfe then noticed the arrow hole in the bird’s chest. “Ah, I see.” As soon as he finished his stew, he put the bowl down and started tearing the quail apart. He even ate some of the charred bones, enjoying the flavor as well as the experience of crunching them to powder in his mouth.

“How does your head feel?” Pocahontas inquired as she ate her own quail.

Rolfe swallowed a bite, wiping his mouth with his handkerchief before replying. “There is a dull ache but it’s nowhere near as bad as yesterday. That was just… ghastly.”

“Well consider it a blessing that we ran into Siwili and Awenasa then,” Pocahontas lauded.

John Rolfe raised a brow at the unfamiliar name. “Awe-who?”

“Awenasa, Siwili’s wife,” Pocahontas explained, gesturing to the aforementioned woman.

When Rolfe met eyes with her again, his face went red and he quickly turned his gaze away. “Oh yes, her… Lovely name that is, Awenasa,” he murmured, embarrassed.

“I don’t think she’s mad at you anymore, John.”

Rolfe cleared his throat loudly. “Right, yes! Very good then. Onto the next topic, shall we? So, love, tell me what you remember about how we got here again. Everything’s so fuzzy in my mind. It feels like I’m trying to put a picture together with dozens of missing puzzle pieces.”

Pocahontas rolled her eyes as she finished up her berries and hickory nuts. “Alright. Well I’m not sure where to start,” she began, complying with his request. “A couple days ago we were still on the ship with the French girls. I remember it was morning and I was shocked when I saw you crawling down the steps to the deck and then you told me how much your head hur…”

“Asa lanqués quetano!” an enthused young voice called out, causing both Pocahontas and Rolfe to jump in surprise. Rolfe glanced back over his shoulder and spotted a couple of older children peeking into the hut. It was the older one, a young warrior-in-training, who had spoken to alert the nearby villagers of the pale visitor’s awakening. Siwili smiled in greeting to the preteens.

John Rolfe looked back at Pocahontas. “Who are they?”

She shrugged. “Just villagers. They want to look at you.”

Rolfe looked puzzled at the notion. “Look at me?”

More and more people ran over and gathered outside the remedial hut, grabbing a chance to peek inside. Awenasa perked up when one small child appeared, a girl with a chubby face who appeared to be about five years old. She waved the girl inside. “Ama nestat, Aquela.”

“Pabua, yuelte!” the child cried, running over to Siwili. He picked her up and sat her down on his knee as he was seated in a cross-legged position. The girl stared curiously at John Rolfe before she turned to Siwili. Pointing to Rolfe, she said, “Aguehone mo dalos?”

Pocahontas leaned over to Rolfe and whispered, _“That must be their daughter.”_

“How can you be sure?” Rolfe inquired.

Pocahontas turned her attention to Siwili and Awenasa. She pointed at the girl, then folded her arms in like she was cradling an infant, and pointed to Siwili and Awenasa with a raised brow. Both of them understood immediately as they nodded, smiling widely. “Siba, siba,” Siwili said. He gestured to the little girl seated in his lap. “Aquela.”

“Aquela,” Pocahontas repeated the girl’s name.

“Ah, I see… That was very clever, Pocahontas,” Rolfe replied. Siwili uttered something to his daughter and she stood up, stepping over toward John Rolfe. He looked at her and she looked at him. “She’s adorable. Wish I knew how to congratulate those two,” Rolfe remarked.

The little girl seemed nervous for a moment but then she walked right up and took hold of one of Rolfe’s hands, examining it like a rare gem. She ran her fingers over his skin and turned his hand over to look at the palm, her eyes widening at the sight of the blue veins on his wrist. “Pabua, ateqo vile no ra pote!” she exclaimed, pulling Rolfe’s hand in the direction of her father. She tried to show Siwili the veins. The warrior craned his neck and then nodded, uttering a chuckle at his daughter’s curiosity. Aquela turned her attention back to Rolfe and poked at his veins.

“Siwili, nolo tequat Aquela no habe mos,” an adolescent boy said resentfully from the doorway.

Siwili waved him off. “Yo tube no regaté femos.”

The warrior’s reply seemed only to annoy the boy. He pointed at John Rolfe. “Hefe lesabet lo me norat. Quoloke téa mirtan tube no ras. Quime notraisa no veti hesquita.”

“I think he wants you to come out of the hut, John,” Pocahontas theorized.

John Rolfe blinked at her. “But I’m not done eating,” he protested.

“Didn’t say you had to go, just that they want you to,” Pocahontas replied, stretching her back. “Inola,” she said, gaining the old lady’s attention. She mimed brushing her hair.

Inola nodded her understanding and went to get the brush, handing it over to Pocahontas. John Rolfe glanced over. “They have hairbrushes here?” he asked almost to himself.

“Of course! You don’t see any villagers with matted hair, do you?” Pocahontas replied. She quickly brushed the tangles from the night before out of her hair and handed the brush to Rolfe. “Here. I brushed your hair last night but you might want to brush it again since you slept on it.”

Rolfe glanced at the bristles, gently taking his other hand back from the curious girl child. “What do they make this out of?” he inquired as he started to use the item to brush his hair. It worked very well as he was able to get the tangles out in no time. Aquela watched in fascination while he groomed himself as did the other observers from outside the hut.

“Porcupine tail. It’s a small mammal that’s covered in spikes to defend itself,” Pocahontas explained. “If I spot one later, I’ll point it out to you.”

John Rolfe handed the brush back to Inola. “Fascinating. I wonder if I might procure a hair strap from this nice lady,” he remarked, glancing around the area to see if he could find anything that could be used for such a purpose. He put a hand to his face and scratched his chin. “The other question is if there’s anything around here that could function like a razor.”

“I don’t think so, John. Men from this land do not grow face-hair so they do not need to shave.”

Rolfe frowned. “But what about the men from your tribe? I thought I remembered the warriors having half their heads shaved.”

“They don’t shave it, John. They pluck it out by the root.”

Rolfe’s eyes widened. “Ouch…” He returned his attention to Aquela when the little girl reached to touch his face, fascinated by the hair growing out of it. She started to pet his jawline like it was a furry animal and Pocahontas giggled at the sight. Not saying a word, Rolfe kept his narrowed side-glance on the girl as he raised a nut to his mouth and ate it slowly.

It was hard to finish his meal under inspection but Rolfe managed it. He then rose to his feet to stretch again but doubled over and held his head in pain. He ended up in a squat, groaning. Siwili, Awenasa, Pocahontas, and Inola looked concerned at his actions. “John?” Pocahontas inquired. “What’s wrong?” she added as she scooted over toward him.

“My head. When I stand up all the way, the pressure rises,” he explained, slowly and carefully sitting back down. With a concerned look on her face, Pocahontas pulled his head down gently and examined the lump. The swelling had gone down immensely.

Pocahontas smiled gently as she released him. “Okay. Well that just means you need to take it easy until you fully recover. I think that means no going out to explore today.”

“I can handle that.”

Instead of venturing outside when Siwili, Awenasa, and Aquela left, Pocahontas stayed in with Inola and John Rolfe. She assisted the former with her basketry while simultaneously drilling Rolfe on Powhatan vocabulary. The villagers were disappointed to learn that Rolfe would not be coming out of the remedial hut that day. Some of them left but there were still visitors that kept stopping by throughout the day to look at him. All he did was wave to them. When his head hurt too much from all the thinking that Pocahontas was making him do, Inola had him lie down as she rubbed an herbal analgesic jelly onto his temples.

After a short nap, Rolfe rejoined Pocahontas. They spent the rest of the day talking, cooking, and sharing in other domestic duties as Pocahontas explained to her beau how things were done.

…

A week passed and both John Rolfe and Pocahontas had convalesced to the point that they were able or willing to go outside of the remedial hut for any length of time, other than for personal excursions. It was evening when Pocahontas, who was busy with beadwork, decided to take a break and go see the village in the full light of day. She got up with her crutch, only needing one as she was able to put some of her weight on her healing ankle, and beckoned John Rolfe to go outside with her. “Come on, John,” she encouraged. “We could go swimming in the river.”

Suddenly there was a big hullabaloo coming from the west side of the village. Rolfe was shy about meeting the villagers face-to-face but he wanted to know what was going on. He asked Pocahontas to go out and see what it was. When she did, she noticed a crowd of people gathering on the bank of the river. Getting closer, she was able to spot a long line of canoes through the trees. Shouts of joy and ululations were heard from the bank. The great chief had returned.


	13. My Eternal Summer

****Rolfe had promised to leave the hut for the evening feast that day. He brushed and tied his hair back, preparing for social interaction. When the beat of the drums began, Pocahontas took him by the hand and led him to the door of the hut. Just then Siwili made an appearance through the curtain, a big smile on his face. He beckoned them to go outside with him. They followed, Rolfe sticking close to his friends as he was inundated the moment he set foot outside.

“Oh, um… Hello,” Rolfe greeted as curious hands from all directions descended on him. His right and left hands were promptly taken hostage by two groups of curious children. Meanwhile the adults and adolescents who could reach were stroking his hair and touching his face all at the same time. Others clung to his clothes. He had to stop until Siwili came to his rescue.

The warrior took Rolfe by the wrist and pulled the Englishman through the crowd and then behind his own back, shaking a finger at the overeager throng. “Heamalahilo do ra tansé menos egas tema motres qués, tiadros,” he scolded them, shooing them off toward the feast.

“I think they like you, John,” Pocahontas remarked as Siwili accompanied them to the feast.

John Rolfe looked indignantly at her. “Everyone’s really touchy-feely around here.”

The flames of the massive bonfire came into view as Siwili led them down the hill. Rolfe could not believe how many people appeared to be gathered in the area. There had to be nearly one hundred and fifty individuals. The music was loud and boisterous and food was everywhere.

Pocahontas, Rolfe, and Siwili reached the edge of the crowd. The throng parted, making a path that lead directly to the great chief. Rolfe’s eyes popped open when he spotted him. The man was huge—about the height of Uttamatomakkin and the muscle mass of Chief Powhatan combined. The moment the local chief caught sight of them, he held up a hand and the music and dancing came to a sudden halt. The stoic expression fell from the chief’s face when he spotted Rolfe, craning his thick neck to get a better look. He held up a hand and beckoned the three of them forward. “Oh, hell…” Rolfe uttered, instantly shrinking behind Siwili.

“Is something wrong, John?” Pocahontas inquired.

Rolfe grinned nervously at her. “N-no, no, of course not. I just… I-I didn’t mean to disrupt their celebration is all,” came his rapid-fire response. He was startled again when their enthusiastic warrior friend took him by the hand and pulled him onward. “Wait but… oh dear.”

Before Rolfe knew it, he and Siwili were standing before the great chief—a man who towered over both of them. The warrior showed not a single sign of anxiety as he greeted the man like a revered father figure. “Heamalahilo Hetoga, elemeni ti ras careyn to ra duté.” He gestured to John Rolfe and said, “Djahn,” and then to the Powhatan woman who stood not far behind them with her one crutch, “Pocahontas.” Siwili then tapped Rolfe on the shoulder and pointed to the great chief. “Heamalahilo,” he said and then enunciated, “Hi-uh-mala-hee-loh.”

“Hea-mala-hilo,” Rolfe repeated slowly in a subdued tone of voice. He gazed up at the imposing warrior king. The chief looked to be in his late forties with an angular face and high cheekbones. He wore thick buckskin boots and dyed hides that draped from his shoulders and hung nearly all the way down to the ground. His massive bare arms were covered with pencil-thin tattoo lines of blue, green, red, and yellow from the tops of his shoulders to the tips of his fingers. His face likewise was a mask of such tattoos. Many long necklaces of shell, copper, and animal teeth hung from his neck down his chest all the way to his abdomen.

Before Rolfe knew it, he had been thrust in front of this colossal figure all by himself. Siwili backed up by Pocahontas’s side to allow Heamalahilo to inspect him. Rolfe’s human shield was gone and well over a hundred sets of foreign eyes were fixated on him. The Englishman did the only thing he knew to do. He took a low formal bow before the great chief, a show of respect that he hoped would be recognized as such. When he rose again, he jumped nearly ten feet in the air. Heamalahilo, who had been standing a good four feet away from him, was now less than one foot away. Rolfe gasped in surprise as a hefty and very curious pair of hands descended on him. The chief took his head, turning his face this way and that. He stroked Rolfe’s bristled jaw, stared into his green eyes, pulled his hair strap out and ran bulky fingers through the Brit’s lustrous auburn hair—all with an air of enthrallment. Holding a lock of Rolfe’s hair in one hand, he pointed to it with the other. “Sope nimus to ra do nama supe?” he asked Siwili.

Siwili nodded. Heamalahilo inspected Rolfe’s clothes and hands before finally returning his hair strap and letting him go back to his friends. Rolfe felt like he was in a trance as he walked back to Pocahontas in a zombie-like manner. He felt her take his hand and kiss it, thus snapping him out of his near-catatonia. “Are you alright, John?” she inquired, noticing that he was shaking.

“Of course, love. Perfectly fine!” Rolfe blurted in an unnaturally high-pitched voice. He shook his head as if to clear it. “I-I do feel strange though.” He took a deep breath and then slowly tied his hair back again. “Anyway I think I’ll be alright,” he said as decisively as possible.

Pocahontas looked worried. “Did he hurt you?”

Rolfe shook his head again. “No, of course not. He was just curious, not hostile. Not hostile…” he repeated to himself. Suddenly the music and dancing started up again as if nothing had happened. That was when the crowd descended on the couple once more. Just like when Rolfe had stepped out of the remedial hut earlier, hands came at him from all sides. He embraced Pocahontas and called out for Siwili, feeling claustrophobic from all the attention.

Indeed their warrior friend did come to their rescue. Siwili tamed the crowd, making them line up to take turns—only four people at a time were allowed to look and touch. They only got to a count of fifty to do so before their turn was over and the next group got a go. It was not that Rolfe minded the attention or even the touching. What he did not like was being swamped with human bodies all around him, leaving no possible escape route. That made him feel panicky.

Pocahontas watched curiously from a few paces away, leaning against a large oak tree. “John,” she called to him. “Are you hungry? I can bring you something to eat if you want.”

“Yes. If you please, love!” Rolfe requested.

“Okay!” Pocahontas replied. She gathered him a plate with samples from many of the different dishes. A small slice of turkey breast, a piece of boiled trout, steamed maize, roasted squash with bayleaf, wild mushrooms, and a handful of acorns made up a good selection. She only needed one hand to hold the plate as the dish-bearers graciously placed the food on it for her.

When Pocahontas returned to Rolfe, she was surprised to find him holding up a giggling little girl who looked about six years of age. The child was wearing a decorative wolfskin hood on her head that made it look like she had big rabbit ears. “Pocahontas, look! Isn’t this adorable? She looks just like a bunny,” Rolfe remarked. He turned the girl around so she was facing away from him and bounced her feet on the ground a few times. “Go on. Hop off and find your mummy.”

As soon as John Rolfe released the child she did indeed hop off in a very rabbit-like manner. She laughed and went nuts, thrilled with the attention from the pale stranger. Pocahontas giggled to herself. “Yes, John. Very adorable,” she replied. She had wondered before how Rolfe felt about children. This was the first time she had gotten to see him interacting with them. She approached and handed him his plate of food though he had to pull one of his hands back from a curious young warrior to accept it. “Here’s a sampling from the feast,” she said.

“Ooh! Thank you, love,” Rolfe replied, hardly noticing the others who were still scrutinizing him. He feared that he would starve if he waited for them to lose interest first. He spotted the small corncob with multi-colored kernels and pointed to it. “What’s this? It’s very colorful.”

“That is maize,” Pocahontas explained. “You’ve eaten it before but not in its raw form. My people grow a variety of maize too. It’s our main crop. We cultivate it in the early spring and harvest it in the fall. Powhatan maize is bigger and only yellow-colored. I’ll show you what it looks like when we get home. I think you’ll like it. These people’s version of maize is very savory in comparison. You should try it. I think it is delicious.”

“Interesting.” With a curious look on his face, Rolfe tried to pick it up. He found it was too hot. “Ah, I’ll have to wait for it to cool.” Instead he started with the acorns and wild mushrooms which he really liked. Then he pointed to another steaming hot item on his plate. “And what’s this? I saw some of these raw a few days ago but I forgot to ask what they were.”

“That is squash. It is cultivated with the maize. Squash, beans, and maize are all farmed together,” Pocahontas explained. “We call them the Three Sisters. They help each other grow.”

“I don’t know the first thing about growing things—not even by English methods frankly,” Rolfe readily admitted. He waited for his food to cool and then devoured everything, leaving not a single scrap on his plate. By this time he was bored of being looked at. He pulled away from his scrutinizers and found Pocahontas by the bonfire. She was sitting on a stump watching the dancers. Rolfe decided to join her, plopping down cross-legged on the ground beside her.

The smaller children of the tribe rushed in, most clad in thin doeskin as the weather had gotten a bit colder. As Rolfe had lowered himself to their level, they decided it was a prime opportunity to swamp and examine him. The little ones chattered, giggled, and poked at him and his hair, skin, and clothes. Rolfe rolled his eyes. “This again,” he uttered to Pocahontas, feigning exasperation.

“I don’t think they’re going to lose interest in you anytime soon,” Pocahontas noted, laughing.

Some adults, possibly the children’s parents, stood by watching the interactions and conversing with each other over them. Rolfe looked up at Pocahontas. “Probably not.”

“Proba-ly nawt,” one tall warrior repeated, testing out the foreign words on his tongue.

Rolfe blinked in surprise and snapped a look up at him. “Ha! You don’t even know what that means, good sir!” he retorted, eyeing the fellow as if in triumph. Pocahontas giggled.

The perpetual grin of amusement did not fall from the warrior’s face as he turned and said to another slightly shorter fellow, “Hemos to ra noté poquin ‘Proba-ly nawt’ sin tysen mo da rotot.”

“Oh, great,” Rolfe sighed, turning away. He folded his arms. “Now they’re gossiping about me.”

“Goss-uh-ping a-bowt me,” one little boy repeated, having taken a cue from the adults. He stood up straight-backed and folded his arms over his chest, mimicking Rolfe’s demeanor.

Rolfe narrowed his eyes at the child. “Oh no, you don’t! You’re too small to get away with that. Come here!” he demanded in a teasing manner, swiftly pulling the boy into his lap and tickling him. The child squealed and kicked, laughing in a high-pitched voice as he tried to free himself. Rolfe released him and he ran off, giggling, jumping, and screaming his head off from the excessive stimulation. Pocahontas had a good hearty laugh as she found the display hilarious.

The other kids around John Rolfe got excited too and started jumping around and shrieking. Rolfe tried to shush them but they only got louder. He rolled his eyes and looked up at Pocahontas, covering his ears against the shrill noise. “I think I might have made a mistake,” he expressed. Pocahontas nodded, covering her ears as well albeit with an amused grin on her face. “Frankly—and I mean between me and you, Pocahontas—I’d like to know just who’s naughty children these are so I could tell their mums and dads off instead!” Rolfe joked.

A familiar face pushed her way through the crowd exclaiming, “Djahn, Djahn, Djahn!”

Rolfe feigned a gasp and then gently seized her. He held her up by the underarms and nuzzled her with the tip of his nose. “Aquela, Aquela, Aquela! And I do happen to know just who’s naughty child _you_ are!” he said as she started giggling. He put her in his lap and grabbed a thin stick from the ground, seeking to distract the noisy children from their annoying inclination. The moment he started to draw in the dirt every last one of them fell silent as they watched what he was doing—including Aquela. He made a picture of a rabbit. “Look. It’s a hippity-hop bunny rabbit.” The children stared at it, a few whispering among themselves. One little girl started to hop in place. Rolfe pointed right at her. “That’s the one! Bunny. Buh-nee,” he enunciated.

“Buh-nee,” several of the children hesitantly repeated.

One little girl, about eight, jumped up and down excitedly. “Mootzeme,” she said, pointing to the rabbit. She hopped like the aforementioned animal. “Buh-nee?”

“Mootzeme?” Rolfe repeated. He glanced at Pocahontas. “That could be their word for ‘rabbit.’”

A roughly four-year-old boy started to hop too. “Mootzeme.”

“Yes, I think so,” Pocahontas replied.

Rolfe cleared his throat. “Right, then!” He took the stick and started drawing a carrot in front of the rabbit. “Now, you little rascals, it seems that Mr. Mootzeme wants all of your carrots.”

The children only tilted their heads at the carrot, unsure what it represented. “I haven’t seen any carrots in this village, John. I’m not sure they know what they are,” Pocahontas remarked.

“Ah,” Rolfe replied. He erased the picture of the carrot and drew a piece of corn with the husk halfway on. “Mr. Mootzeme wants all your maize then. Maize. May-z,” he expressed.

A few children repeated the word but one boy pointed to the maize and exclaimed, “Holo!”

“Holo?” Rolfe repeated curiously.

“Holo,” the boy confirmed. He mimed the action of eating corn on the cob.

John Rolfe grinned. “Ah, yes! Holo.”

Pocahontas, Rolfe, and the local children spent the rest of the evening using pictures to exchange words in their respective languages. Eventually things got to the point where Rolfe was illustrating very simple stories, rather than just single things or ideas—“the goose flies south for winter,” “the owl eats the mouse,” and “the girl plants seeds in spring,” being among them.

Chief Heamalahilo stopped by briefly to see what they were up to as did other adults. He smiled and walked away afterwards. It was not long before the feast had dried up and the formal dancers had stopped their dancing for the night. Parents came to take their young children off to bed. When Siwili arrived, Rolfe handed Aquela up to him. The warrior propped the girl on a hip and said to her, “Gugé virso éqi a Djahn en Pocahontas, Aquela.”

“Gugé virso, Djahn en Pocahontas,” Aquela said, yawning at Rolfe and his ladylove.

When they had gone, John Rolfe rose to his feet and stretched out his legs and back. “Well, Pocahontas, I think I’m going to retire even if it is a little early for most. I don’t know about you but for me it’s been a rather full day and I am exhausted.”

“Actually I think I’ll join you,” Pocahontas replied, following him back to the hut.

…

It was two hours before noon the next day when Pocahontas prepared a large covered basket in the remedial hut for an outing with Rolfe, Meeko, Percy, and Flit. With the animals in tow, she was not so pleased to find her paramour down by the river’s edge surrounded by a group of curious and giggling young women. Siwili and Awenasa were working on a fish rack about twenty paces away and a bunch of discarded corn-filled baskets were lying on the ground not far from the group. It did not take a genius to put two-and-two together that Rolfe had gone looking for Siwili and been intercepted by the lady harvesters who were coming back in from the fields. “No, no! Now see here, madam. You cannot touch me there, it’s entirely improper. I say!”

Hearing Rolfe’s distress, Siwili looked up and called out to him. It was Pocahontas however who made it there first pushing through the crowd with her crutch under her left arm and the picnic basket under her right. She snapped at the women to disperse, making her disapproval clear. “Go on,” she decreed, nodding toward the corn baskets. “Go back to work! Leave him alone!”

When Pocahontas got to John Rolfe, his clothes and hair looked a bit disheveled but all in all he was okay. He straightened himself up a bit before addressing Pocahontas while the badgered women, perplexed by Pocahontas’s behavior, retreated from the scene. “Thanks, love! You’re right on time, thank goodness!… Say, what’s that you’ve got?” he inquired, noticing the basket. “Shall I carry it for you, my dear?” he graciously offered, holding out his arms.

Pocahontas handed it to him. “Come on, John. We’re going for a swim by the waterfalls,” she replied as she turned around, giving the cowed women one last dirty look to ensure she had gotten her point across. Fortunately for everyone Siwili intervened and seemed to be explaining to the ladies that Pocahontas and Rolfe were a couple. Pocahontas then lead Rolfe and their animal friends away from the others, heading west along the river’s edge.

Days back, Awenasa had introduced Pocahontas to the waterfall where the village’s women liked to come and bathe at the crack of dawn each morning. It was before Rolfe had recuperated enough to accompany her and now she wanted him to see it for himself. She had accompanied the group of ladies early that same morning and washed herself thoroughly. The waterfall itself was very modest, only about eight feet high. If one swam through to the other side of the cascade, one would find a small gleaming pool and beyond that—a cave illuminated by sunlit water reflections. There was an easily accessible dry exit on the right side of the waterfall. It was the perfect place for a bit of privacy which is why Pocahontas assumed Rolfe would like it.

Better yet, on top of the waterfall there was a small grassy meadow on one side of the river and a sandy riverbank on the other. It was a perfect place to relax and dry off after a swim or to have a picnic. Once they arrived, the first thing Rolfe remarked on was the beauty of their surroundings. Cattails and lily pads bordered the rich blue river on the far side. A bullfrog perched on a shiny gray stone on the near side of the river. Butterflies, dragonflies, birds, bees, squirrels, and chipmunks darted around going about their business. This branch of the river was no wider than thirty feet across and the water was five and a half feet deep near the bottom of the waterfall.

Meeko and Percy had already jumped in by the time Pocahontas and John Rolfe reached the bank. Rolfe set the basket down on the grass right at the water’s edge and removed his boots and socks before slowly wading in. Meanwhile Pocahontas raised the cover off the basket and collected a few items. “I’ll be right back, John!” she called to him, limping off to the cave behind the waterfall. Flit followed her. When she returned she left her crutch on the riverbank and joined Rolfe in the water, splashing around playfully. They fooled around for about an hour, splashing each other and chatting and waving at any villagers who happened to pass by.

“This was an excellent idea, Pocahontas. This seems like it would be the perfect place to bathe if only we had soap,” Rolfe remarked, poking at a fish that swam by. It jumped up and slapped him on the shoulder with its tail before darting away at the speed of light. “Ow!”

Pocahontas smiled. “We have something like soap,” she revealed, reaching for the picnic basket. She pulled out a small jug. “It’s made from mashed roots around here. I saw Inola making it yesterday. We do the same thing in my village too.” She pulled the plug on the top and put the jug to Rolfe’s nose. “Here, smell. There are aromatic herbs and oils mixed in.”

Rolfe sniffed the mixture. “Oh wow! Yes, that is most like a perfume.”

Pocahontas reached behind John Rolfe’s head and gently pulled out his hair tie. “Let me wash your hair for you, John,” she proposed, putting the leather tie on top of the basket and then pouring some of the mixture into the palm of her hand.

Rolfe blinked. “Oh alright, then. Thank you, Pocahontas,” he replied, turning around to face away from her. He relaxed his arms and head on a boulder that was poking out of the water in front of him and sighed. “Are you going to want the favor returned, my dear?”

Pocahontas shook her head as she put the jug down on the riverbank and pushed the attached plug back in the top opening. “I washed my hair before you woke up this morning. This place is where all the women in the village come to bathe at the crack of dawn.”

“Ah.”

Pocahontas rubbed the liquid between her palms into a light froth and then ran her lubricated fingers through Rolfe’s sopping wet hair. Gently she massaged it into his scalp, grateful that she no longer had to be careful with the back of his head since the bruise had healed to the point of no longer causing pain. She spread the suds throughout his hair and started using the tips of her fingers to go around his hairline in small circles. He uttered a chuckle. “That feels niiice.”

Pocahontas smiled as she continued with her endeavor. She pushed the lathered-up length of his hair up onto the top of his head and swirled it around as she worked her way through it. “I think we’re just about done here. Now, John,” she said, withdrawing her sudsy hands as he glanced back at her. She pointed to the waterfall. “There is a private cave and a pool of water behind those falls. I put a fresh pair of clothes, more soap, and a plant sponge back there for you. Why don’t you go take a full bath and then give me your clothes so I can wash and sew them for you. The fabric has so many tears in it right now, it almost looks like you’re wearing rags. Then we can go have lunch on the top of the falls,” she proposed, pointing to the picnic basket.

“You would do all that?” Rolfe inquired, looking surprised.

Pocahontas nodded. “Of course. And I’ll keep an eye on the entrance for you to make sure no one goes in while you’re in there.”

“Thanks, love!” Rolfe replied enthusiastically. He turned and waded away, swimming through the falls and rinsing his hair out in the process. Percy followed behind him. Half a minute later, a hand reached through the descending water holding out the sopping wet clothes.

Pocahontas took them and swam over to the washing stone by the bank. It had been placed there by the village women for that exact purpose. She used the soap to lather the garments up and then scrubbed them thoroughly against the ribbed surface until they were squeaky clean. She rinsed them, wrung them out, and then hung them up on a low-lying branch before getting out of the water and putting the soap jug away in the picnic basket. Meeko came over, sniffing around the basket. Since breakfast that morning—and after swimming—he had built up quite the appetite. Pocahontas placed a hand over the cover to prevent him from opening it. “You’ll have to wait until John is done, Meeko. There’s plenty for all of us in here, trust me.” Next she got to work on cleaning and shining Rolfe’s stinky boots inside and out as well as the socks.

Meeko frowned but it was not long before he found a nearby berry bush to tide himself over. It took Rolfe and Percy about twenty minutes but they soon emerged from the falls both squeaky clean. Rolfe was preoccupied with the bizarre new clothes he was wearing. The full-length pants were made of dark buckskin with decorative fringes on both sides that extended from his waist to his feet. The vest was sleeveless and also had fringes around the seams and edges. He was holding the soap jug and wet sponge in one hand and playing with the thin tassels with the other. “These clothes feel weird,” he noted when he spotted Pocahontas. She was sitting on a boulder near the picnic basket and grinning at him. “I mean, not that they’re uncomfortable,” he clarified. “It’s just that I’ve never worn anything made of any kind of hide before.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Pocahontas replied, rising to her feet with the help of her crutch. “Besides you only need to wear it long enough for your clothes and shoes to dry out and for me to finish mending them.” She pointed to the picnic basket. She had moved Rolfe’s damp clothes onto the cover to dry in the sun. “Pick that up and follow me,” she instructed.

Rolfe stuffed the soap jug and sponge back in the basket and hefted it up, pushing his feet into the now-wet but clean boots. He followed Pocahontas up the hill. She had to take the longer route because the short one was too steep for a crutch. When they reached the top, they stepped through a line of trees and found a beautiful meadow. “Wow, Pocahontas, this is really nice!”

They went over near the riverbank yet remained on the grass. Pocahontas spread out a barkcloth blanket and they placed the basket in the middle to weigh it down against the wind. She instructed Rolfe to lay his damp clothes out on a nearby sunny boulder so they would dry more quickly. When he rejoined her on the blanket, she was laying out the dishes. There were corn on the cob, dried fish and venison, nuts, berries, and pawpaw. Meeko promptly began stuffing himself as per usual. Percy took a share of the dried meat and Flit was preoccupied with the nearby wildflowers. Rolfe and Pocahontas ate in silence for a few minutes before Pocahontas decided to bring up a topic they had avoided for a whole week. “John, what do you remember from before the storm?” she inquired, lying down on her side facing Rolfe.

Rolfe swallowed the bite in his mouth and mirrored her stance. “I was going to ask you. I only have brief flashes of events on the ship before the storm but I’ve got no idea what order they fall in,” he explained, reaching toward her and interlacing his fingers with hers on the blanket.

“I’ll tell you what I remember,” Pocahontas began. “I remember the night before. We were having dinner and then Jacqueline came to get me to show me something down in the berthing quarters. That dinner was the last time I had seen you before you showed up with your brain injury. You didn’t join us like I thought you would when we were telling stories down below. So when I started to get worried and asked about you, Charlotte went to check on you. She came back and told me that you had gone to sleep for the night. Now I remember that’s when Meeko, Percy, and Flit had been missing for a while and I had no idea where they were. Charlotte also told me that Meeko, Percy, and Flit had decided to spend the night with you that night.”

While Flit was sucking nectar from a nearby flower, he heard Pocahontas’s words and perked up. He flew between Pocahontas and Rolfe and shook his head vigorously. Rolfe gestured to the hummingbird. “I agree with Flit. I haven’t got any memories of spending the night with them on the ship. But why would Charlotte lie? From what I recall of her, she seemed very nice.”

Flit chirped twice and flew to a spot of dirt right off the edge of the picnic blanket. Pocahontas and Rolfe sat up, following him with their eyes. “What is it, Flit?” Pocahontas inquired.

The hummingbird used his pin-like beak to draw a square in the sand. Then he lined the square with vertical bars. Rolfe only raised a brow. “I… am not entirely sure what that represents.”

Pocahontas tilted her head to the side and then straightened it. “Huh. It kind of looks like… a cage?” she theorized, scratching her head. Flit chirped twice again and nodded.

Percy had just finished up his fish. He came over and yipped, nodding as well. Rolfe’s eyes widened. “You mean all of you were trapped in cages?” he asked. Again they nodded. “Like where? Down in the brig or something?” And again the answer was affirmative.

“Now who could’ve… who _would’ve_ …?” Pocahontas murmured, placing a finger on her lip. Suddenly her eyes widened and she looked at Rolfe, gasping.

John Rolfe looked alarmed. “What, Pocahontas? What is it?!”

 _“Nicole,”_ Pocahontas hissed, her brows drawing together. “She…”

“She pushed you off the side of the ship during the storm! I saw it with my own eyes! I remember now!” Rolfe blurted, jumping to his feet. “And then a great wave came and washed all of you overboard, including Nicole. She must be dead! Wait, wait… But why would she want to hurt you? I can’t recall… I remember she was the one who sewed new outfits for all the girls and an English flag for the ship. After you were all washed overboard, I recall trying to take a rope and a floating door to go after you. Wait… No, that can’t be right.”

“What can’t be right?” Pocahontas inquired.

John Rolfe let out a chuckle. “I have a terrifying memory but it must have been a dream.”

“What memory?”

“I remember… just when I was about to go in after you, I saw a sort of… monster. It was a horrifying face. In the wind. Like it was made out of wind.” John Rolfe squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “I’m sorry, love. That probably sounds crazy.”

Pocahontas was surprised, unsure if the memory had any merit. She knew there were such things as wind and storm demons but Rolfe had had a concussion at the time. “It is possible that it was an illusion…” she hesitantly replied. “A concussed brain came see all sorts of visions.”

Rolfe laughed. “Yes, that must be what it was. It’s just rather unfortunate because now I can’t be sure which memories were true and which ones were false unless I confirm them with you.” The most unexpected image flashed through his mind and he suddenly looked baffled. _“Fish guts?”_

“What? Are you… Did you just say ‘fish guts,’ John?” Pocahontas inquired, equally perplexed.

Flit, Percy, and Meeko exchanged looks that expressed concern over the mental health of their human friends. “Did I?” Rolfe asked, more confused than ever.

Pocahontas looked hesitant. “That’s… what I _thought_ I heard.”

“Pocahontas, remind me about dinner the night before. What happened? What did we talk about?” John Rolfe blurted, trying to get a handle on his memories.

A look of concentration overtook Pocahontas’s features. “Well I remember we were talking about all the things we wanted to do once we got home. I wanted to bring you to the harvest festival. I guess dinner ended abruptly after that. The next thing I remember is being down in the berthing quarters with Jacqueline and Louise,” she recalled with a thoughtful look.

Rolfe thought for a minute, scratching his chin. Then his eyes lit up. “Oh, oh yes! I remember. You were talking about all the neat costumes and local dances your people do around the bonfire and the story-telling and the fun and games and foot races. And food. Oh God yes, the feast!”

“Yes, exactly!” Then she frowned. “I guess this year we won’t make it after all.”

John Rolfe frowned in sympathy for Pocahontas but then he decided to look on the bright side. “I know you’d rather be with your own family but I also think it’s been fun celebrating with Siwili and his tribe. They’ve been having a great harvest here too, don’t you think?”

Pocahontas smiled and nodded. “True, it has been fun.” She paused. “I’ve enjoyed watching the unique dances they do here but the thing is… I don’t _know_ any of the local dances. If I was at the Powhatan harvest festival, I would be one of the formal dancers—not just a spectator. There is no comparison between watching and participating, believe me. The latter is infinitely more fun.”

John Rolfe smiled and leaned down to pat her on the shoulder. “There will always be next year for that but Siwili’s culture is something we’ll only get to experience this once,” he asserted.

“You’re right! I might as well enjoy it,” Pocahontas laughed. “Now back to the topic. You were trying to remember what happened after dinner on the ship, I believe.”

“Oh yes, that!” Rolfe blurted. He scratched his head and started to pace. “Okay, so we were talking about the Powhatan harvest festival and… then…” he continued slowly, “I think it was Lorraine who got my attention next. She wanted to tell me about French autumn dishes. She also mentioned that she had a little garden back in St. Augustine. But… Mademoiselle Lorraine was abruptly interrupted when Mademoiselle Charlotte called for me. She was frantic because she wanted to show me… something…” After a brief moment of silence, Rolfe’s eyes popped open in realization. He gasped loudly and cried at the top of his lungs, “THE FISH GUTS!!”

Pocahontas, Meeko, Flit, and Percy were all literally bowled over by Rolfe’s loud and very unexpected outburst. Pocahontas pushed herself back up from the ground, a concerned and very cross look on her face. “John, are you crazy?! You nearly gave me a heart attack! What’s all this about fish guts?” she returned, holding a hand over her chest to still her pounding heart.

“There were fish guts, Pocahontas! Fish guts all over my bed! That’s what Charlotte wanted to show me. By God, Pocahontas, I remember everything now! It was Nicole! It was all Nicole Lorrise St. Germaine. She tried to frame you for witchcraft, love!” Rolfe exclaimed. A look of bitter rage overtook the Englishman’s whole countenance. “That, that, that little _she-demon_!”

Pocahontas blinked at the revelation. “But why? I never understood why she hated me so much. I sensed her hostility before but I never could’ve predicted she would try to push me overboard!” Though Pocahontas recalled Nicole’s interest in Rolfe, she never imagined one would attempt murder over such a petty love rivalry. “I almost thought I was delusional…”

“Well it seems your instincts were correct, love. That little witch! When she was trying to convince me that you had me under a love spell, she told me that _she_ loved me and wanted to save me from your evil clutches. She tried to kiss me… and then…”

Pocahontas gasped. It was true, all the suspicions she had had all along that she had written off as simple paranoia. She was eager to learn more. “What then? What about the concussion? Do you remember what happened? Did she attack you or was it an accident?”

“I rebuked her next. Quite harshly in fact. Then I ordered her to clean up the mess because I knew darn well at that point that she was responsible and informed her that I’d send someone up to accompany her down to the brig afterwards. So then she started to cry like a bratty child who’d just gotten caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She tried to plead with me, ‘Oh John, you’re under a love spell. Please, let me save you!’” Rolfe spat, mimicking a girly voice to the best of his ability. He slowed down, returning to a pensive state. “And then…”

“And then what?” Pocahontas urged.

Rolfe ran a hand through his damp hair with a sigh. “Then I turned to leave and… I don’t remember anything else. I suppose she could have… but no. I mean, she was a small woman. She certainly didn’t look very strong. I can’t imagine that it was she who…”

“John.”

Rolfe turned and glanced down at Pocahontas. “What?”

“Do you remember anything from the morning after that when you were concussed?” Pocahontas inquired. “Louise, Madeleine, and I took you back to your bedroom… I don’t recall seeing any fish guts so they must’ve been cleaned up by somebody the night before. We put you on your bed and inspected your head. It wasn’t just a massive bruise that you had, John. We found a shard of green glass literally embedded in your scalp.”

Rolfe jumped back. “Green glass? You mean like from a wine bottle or something?”

Pocahontas nodded. “That’s the only place I ever recall seeing green glass on the ship. It’s not like there were any stained glass windows on the _Blood Draw_.” Rolfe looked zoned out as another memory flashed through his mind. “What?!” Pocahontas cried.

“There _was_ a bottle! I spotted one on my desk sometime during the talk with Nicole. I hadn’t put it there myself but I didn’t think much of it at the time!” John Rolfe exclaimed.

A look of violent rage overcame Pocahontas’s features. “So she really did it? She hit you on the head with a glass bottle? She could’ve killed you!”

Rolfe threw up his hands in the air. “That’s it. My dignity is gone. I’ve been beaten up by a teenage girl,” he declared in resignation. He sighed and met shame-filled eyes with Pocahontas’s confused ones, making sharp jabbing hand motions as he spoke. “Love, when we recount this story to your tribe… or to anyone for that matter, we are leaving this part _out_!”

Pocahontas frowned. “John,” she protested, “there’s no shame in what happened to you. It wasn’t your fault and it could’ve happened to anyone!”

Rolfe paced about ten feet from the blanket and plopped down in the grass, facing away from the others. He buried his head in his hands, stark silent. Pocahontas bit her bottom lip. Bees buzzed and a soft breeze rattled some nearby foliage. Finally Pocahontas stood up with her crutch and walked over to him, plopping by his side. She was about to say something comforting but suddenly Rolfe looked up and blurted, “I was responsible for those girls, Pocahontas! God only knows what’s happened to them because I was too incompetent to watch my back around a jealous, spoilt child!” He was not exactly crying but he looked to be in great distress.

Percy, Meeko, and Flit exchanged sad looks but all Pocahontas did was place a warm hand on his shoulder. She pulled him into an embrace, fearful that he might resist since he seemed so angry at himself. She was pleasantly surprised when he returned the affection instead. “John?”

There was a long pause. “But…” Rolfe began more gently. “I’m not going to be petty and self-absorbed enough to let a dreadful mistake ruin things for us. You’re still my number one priority, love.” They pulled back from each other and kissed. Rolfe scooped Pocahontas and her crutch off the ground and brought them all back to the blanket, placing her down gently. He sat beside her with an arm draped over her shoulder. “What now then? Have we finished lunch already?”

Pocahontas laughed, investigating the basket which was now bereft of food. “Well if we didn’t, then Meeko sure finished it for us,” she replied, looking over at the slightly bloated sleeping raccoon curled up next to said basket. “Why don’t you lie down and sunbathe long enough for your hair to dry out, John? I’ll sew your clothes,” she proposed, fishing the needle and thread that she had brought out from inside the basket.

“Well alright, Pocahontas. But don’t let me fall asleep,” Rolfe pleaded, getting up to retrieve the clothes from the boulder upon which they had been laid. He handed them to Pocahontas and plopped down again, lying back on the sun-warmed blanket. It was pure bliss. “Mm, this is entirely too comfortable,” he remarked, kicking off his boots to let them dry out on the inside.

Pocahontas chuckled. “And what’s wrong with taking a short nap while you’re sunbathing?”

“I shouldn’t be sleeping during the day. It’s _lazy_ ,” he retorted, only half-serious.

“Oh hush,” Pocahontas returned as she sewed up a tear on the left breast of Rolfe’s shirt. She worked quickly as there was a lot of mending needing to be done on his outfit overall. “Nothing wrong with being lazy once in a while, especially if you’re recovering from head trauma.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, that’s so,” Pocahontas argued without so much as slowing down her work.

Rolfe yawned. “You know, this reminds me of the picnics I used to take with Sarah when she was alive—mainly in the late spring and summer. We would find a sunny spot in a meadow, eat lunch, and then laze around reading poetry to each other or sometimes I would play the miniature harp. She really liked that,” he languorously expressed, rolling on his side to face Pocahontas. He seemed to enter a state of reminiscence for a moment and then frowned. “I stopped practicing after she died,” he admitted, rolling onto his back again and looking up at the clear sky.

“Poetry?” 

Rolfe smiled. “Yes. Shakespeare was her favorite. As a matter of fact,” he expressed, pushing himself into a sitting position. “I’ve got one of his works memorized that describes exactly how I feel about _you_ ,” he said, tapping Pocahontas’s delicate nose lightly with his fingertip.

Pocahontas giggled. “Oh really? What’s that?”

“Sonnet 18. Would you like to hear it?” Rolfe inquired.

Pocahontas nodded.

_“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?_

_Thou art more lovely and more temperate._

_Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,_

_And summer’s lease hath all too short a date._

_Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines,_

_And often is his gold complexion dimmed;_

_And every fair from fair sometimes declines,_

_By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed;_

_But thy eternal summer shall not fade,_

_Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,_

_Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade,_

_When in the eternal lines to Time thou grow’st._

_So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,_

_So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”_

Pocahontas smiled sweetly. “That was beautiful.”

“It means I will always love you no matter how you change or how old you get. You are my eternal summer,” John Rolfe explained, kissing her hand. “While we first met in winter, I fell in love with you in the summer. Spring love is fleeting but summer love is forever.”

Pocahontas dropped her sewing and threw her arms around Rolfe’s neck, pulling him up for a passionate kiss. All she wanted to do was lie back down beside him with her head on his chest and relax but she wanted to finish mending his clothes first. “If John Smith was my spring love, then you are indeed my summer love,” she murmured in his ear as she released him.

John Rolfe laughed and fell back again, stretching out fully. “Always and forever,” he murmured as he let his eyes fall shut to the sunshine and sounds of nature. Catching sight of his bare feet laid out on the blanket, Pocahontas scooted down toward them and out of pure curiosity poked him on the bottom of his left sole. Rolfe jumped with a start and looked up at her. “Hey!”

His startlement startled Pocahontas and she jumped too. “What’s wrong?”

“You poked me!”

Pocahontas grinned. “So?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Do it again and I shall be forced to avenge myself, dear.” Out of pure curiosity in regards to what he meant, she poked him again. “I shall not take this insult lying down!” Rolfe declared. He scrambled up and went straight for her bare feet, trying to tickle them with his fingertips. Pocahontas showed no reaction to his endeavor and just stared at him with a slightly amused look on her face that she was trying but failing to hide. “Nothing is it, then?”

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to do,” Pocahontas lied.

Rolfe eyed her carefully. “The smirk on your face tells me otherwise. How about… _this_ ,” he said as he went straight for her ribs. She squealed in a high-pitched voice and tried to shove his hands away. “I knew it!” Rolfe insisted, withdrawing. “Now if you want no more of that then there shall be no more poking, so says I,” he decreed. Turning around, he laid back down with his feet far away from Pocahontas and his head and chest beside her. He looked up at her as she got back to sewing, a subtle smile gracing her lips. “You look pretty from this angle.”

Her smile widened but she did not turn her attention from her work. Rolfe gradually fell into a light sleep. It took an hour to mend his clothes. “John,” she said, rousing him. “I’m finished with your clothes and you’re starting to get a little too much sun again. Come on, let’s go.”

…

Another four days passed and Pocahontas no longer needed her crutch. Still healing, she walked with only the subtlest of limps. Running was still a bit of a challenge. Rolfe had spent some time that morning observing Siwili as he worked on a dugout canoe with no tools other than fire and a clamshell. Once recovered from his debilitating injury, the Englishman had begun to gain an intense interest in the kinds of skills that the local warriors possessed that did not relate to actual warfare. After the brief observational period, John Rolfe had offered to help Siwili with the endeavor. The friendly warrior was happy to have an assistant so Rolfe was given a clamshell and the two of them spent about half the day carving out a new boat for the village.

Once Siwili retired to other activities, Rolfe realized he had not seen Pocahontas since breakfast. He went looking for her and was surprised to find her at the shooting range near the edge of the forest, practicing with a bow and arrow. Meeko, Percy, and Flit were her only spectators. Having yet to see her shooting skills, he walked up behind her and watched as she fired a shot right into the center of her tree-mounted target. “Wow! You’re really good, love. How did you learn to use a weapon anyway? I’ve never seen any of the ladies around here trying to wield one.”

Pocahontas jumped slightly and glanced over her shoulder. “Oh. Hi, John! I didn’t hear you coming,” she replied as she nocked another arrow from the quiver on her back. “I don’t use the bow as a weapon. In fact I don’t even normally hunt with it. For me it is just a hobby.”

“Oh really? Who gave you the bow?” Rolfe inquired curiously, leaning against a large sapling.

“I got one of the shorter warriors to lend me his, Etu.”

Rolfe scratched his fuzzy chin. “Have you got one of your own at home?”

“Yes, I keep it under my bed,” Pocahontas revealed. She was about to fire again but then thought better of it when a thought occurred. “John, there’s something I want to talk to you about,” she said, dropping her archery equipment to the grassy ground and facing him.

Rolfe approached her and interlaced the fingers of both his hands with hers. “Yes, my dear?”

Pocahontas looked hesitant like it was a matter weighing heavily on her mind. She cleared her throat and looked down at his chest. “I’ve been thinking… John, I think we should consider staying with these people for the winter and then heading off toward home in the spring when it’s nice and warm again. Why should we risk losing our way and then starving and freezing to death? It just… as much as I want to be home right now, I think we should consider our options.”

Rolfe’s eyes popped open in surprise. It was the last thing he had expected her to bring up. If he was completely honest with himself, he had to admit he had not even considered the future over the past week and a half. He had been too busy recovering and then he had gotten so absorbed into the local culture. “I see your reasoning, love. The one thing I worry about is your poor friends and family, especially your father. I mean, by now they must be frantic wondering what’s become of you. Our ship was expected back weeks ago after all.”

“I know, I know. But we’re not doing anyone any good if we end up dead by poor choices. Look around us, John. The leaves are changing and falling from the trees. We are well into autumn and it has gotten colder lately. Plus we don’t even have a map,” Pocahontas pointed out.

Rolfe held up a finger with a sly look on his face. “Not to worry, love. I spent so much time looking at that land map prior to the storm that I’ve got it well memorized by now. But… I see your point,” he expressed. “Ultimately I think we should take a couple days to think about…”

Suddenly a familiar voice shouted for them, abruptly ending the discussion. “Djahn! Pocahontas! Ayu hok teton no ra doté!” Siwili called to them. He appeared at the top of the hill with a look of barely contained excitement on his face, beckoning them with a full arm motion.

Rolfe and Pocahontas exchanged curious looks and followed. Percy and Meeko likewise ran after their human friends with Flit in pursuit as well. When Pocahontas and Rolfe reached Siwili, he took them both by the hand and pulled them along. He lead them in the direction of the remedial hut, taking a shortcut by pushing through some green bushes. As soon as they emerged Pocahontas, Rolfe, Meeko, Percy, and Flit uttered loud gasps all in unison.

Nicole Lorrise St. Germaine stood before their very eyes, supported by a warrior on one side and a woman on the other. She appeared weak and filthy, covered with scratches. Her clothes were torn to shreds and her blonde hair was an absolute rat’s nest. She had to weigh at least twenty pounds less than when they had last seen her. Meanwhile Siwili was pointing excitedly at her as if to say, ‘Hey John, look! We found someone who looks like you!’ When Nicole caught sight of them, shock was written all over her face. “John?” she squeaked.

The moment Nicole uttered his name, Rolfe overcame his surprise. His shocked countenance quickly transitioned into one of acute rage. His brows drew together, his eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared, and his face reddened. _“You,”_ he hissed venomously, zeroing in on the blonde.


	14. Something Wicked

****Rolfe promptly stood in front of Pocahontas. “Stay away from her, you would-be murderess! I saw what you did during that storm!” he howled in French. Percy and Meeko both growled at Nicole as they stood between her and their human friends. Flit chirped angrily.

Siwili gasped and jumped between them, worried that Rolfe or the animals would attack the girl. “Supé soala cosa to ra dota? Keta! Djahn?” he cried, more confused than ever.

Rolfe stood up straight and proper in front of his friend. “Not to worry, Siwili. I shan’t attack a female. But that doesn’t mean I have to _like_ her,” he snorted, shooting Nicole a dirty look.

“John, she doesn’t look like she’s in any condition to threaten anyone right now,” Pocahontas pointed out, a little surprised herself at how visceral Rolfe’s anger was. While she was not happy about Nicole’s presence either, there was some satisfaction to seeing her in such a humbled state. Pocahontas knew better than to get her hopes up but she internally anticipated that the girl might have changed after witnessing the horrible disaster resulting from her own nefarious actions.

The warrior and the woman helping Nicole were taken aback. They tried to avoid confrontation by turning to bring Nicole into the remedial hut but Rolfe jumped in the way to stop them. “Wait, wait!” he exclaimed, holding up two hands. “I don’t want us to stay in the same hut as her. Let me get our things out first!” He turned to the pug dog. “Percy, you’re on guard dog duty. If she tries anything on Pocahontas, I want you to turn her legs into mincemeat!”

Percy yipped affirmatively at Rolfe and then went back to growling at Nicole.

Rolfe turned and disappeared into the hut, emerging but a few seconds later with Pocahontas’s folded pants, boot, and machete. His pockets, he had stuffed with his own possessions. Just then the vainglorious girl passed out from low blood sugar. She slumped, thus forcing the warrior at her side to pick her up and carry her bridal-style. The native woman with him looked very concerned. Rolfe moved to the side and waved for the man and woman to carry Nicole inside which they did. “Good riddance,” he uttered to himself just as Siwili took him by the arm.

The warrior beckoned Pocahontas to follow. He lead them to his own hut down by the riverbank. Awenasa and Aquela were inside sewing by the fire. The latter looked up when they arrived. “Djahn! Pocahontas!” the little girl greeted. Siwili pointed to a five-foot-high shelf for Rolfe and Pocahontas to put their things, indicating that they would be staying with the brave’s family. Meeko found a basket on the top shelf and curled up inside it for a nap, Flit nesting atop him.

Rolfe put their belongings where indicated and waved to Aquela as Siwili began explaining what had just transpired to his wife. Awenasa glanced at John and Pocahontas, looking just as confused as Siwili was. Rolfe frowned and turned to Pocahontas. “It’s really a pity we can’t communicate fully with these people. I feel like I owe them an explanation for my behavior,” he lamented. Once they finished talking, Awenasa got up and followed Siwili out of the hut. Rolfe guessed that she wanted to see the disliked white girl for herself. He plopped down cross-legged next to Aquela and sighed, resting his hands on his spread knees. The little girl reached over and patted him on the bicep which humored the Englishman slightly.

“Are you alright, John?” Pocahontas inquired.

Rolfe glanced to Pocahontas as she took a seat next to him. “Yes but… we need to talk. I’m not sure if this changes things or not. But regardless I do not intend to repeat my past mistake. I will not for one minute let my guard down around Nicole and I ask you to do the same.”

Pocahontas nodded. “We’ll see how things turn out once she recovers. Maybe she has changed, maybe not. Either way I think it is wise to just stay away from her.”

“Why do you think she might’ve changed?” Rolfe asked, not even thinking it a possibility.

“Well… consider the state she’s in right now. She got that way because of the choices she made. Maybe she’ll see the error in her ways,” Pocahontas explained.

Rolfe leaned forward and rubbed his face with his hands, nodding. “Fair enough.”

Meanwhile Pocahontas gazed into the fire pensively. After a five minute silence, she rose to her feet. “I need some time alone to think. I’m going to go take a walk by the waterfalls.”

“Alright but please just humor me and take Percy with you, love,” Rolfe replied without moving.

Percy perked up and yipped, proud to be placed in such an important position as guard dog. Pocahontas smiled at the pug. “Okay, I will. Come on, Percy,” she said, walking out.

Pocahontas paced along the river, feeling the wind in her hair and trying to listen to its wild call. Percy plodded after her, watchful of their surroundings. Once they reached the falls, Pocahontas found a flat pebble and skipped it across the river. She sat on her knees in the soft grass, recalling to mind the many lessons Grandmother Willow had taught her over the years.

The most important one had been to listen to her heart. If she was in tune with her own spirit, she could understand and feel all kinds of things beyond her physical form—a euphoric experience. It was an art form she had practiced much in the wake of John Smith’s return to England but once news of his supposed death had arrived she hit a brick wall. She suffered that way for years. Any little noise or sensation would distract her, a problem which only went away after she had discovered the truth of Smith’s existence. She was disappointed in herself that she had somehow let her grief turn her blind, mute, and deaf to the spiritual guidance around her for so long.

Pocahontas’s confusion was of both a mental and spiritual nature and it troubled her even now. She had experienced one major breakthrough in the English forest at dawn after Rolfe and Smith had rescued her from the dreadful Tower. It had come at a critical moment for if it had been delayed even a few minutes longer the fate of her people would have been sealed. It had been the same situation with her dream of John Smith’s compass years earlier. One second too late would have meant the death of John Smith and a brutal war that she would have been caught right in the middle of. Why did the spirits always wait until the last possible second to tell her something important? Or alternatively was it she who had failed to listen until such time?

Pocahontas had used her shamanic gift to learn basic English years ago though she still had to study and ask people questions to broaden her vocabulary and learn reading and writing. She had tried to use her gift to learn French but two factors prevented her from doing so successfully. Number one, she sensed she would be persecuted on the ship if she revealed her ability. As it turned out, she had been persecuted anyway. Secondly, the infernal noises and distractions kept plaguing her and preventing her from understanding. She could have kept her knowledge of the foreign language quiet, only listening and never speaking. But no matter how she tried to listen with her heart, the mental confusion and little distractions had prevented her from succeeding.

Currently Pocahontas was having the same problem with the people they were staying with. She wanted to be able to communicate more complex ideas. Before Nicole’s arrival, Pocahontas had not thought it necessary. There was nothing critical that needed translating then. But now new fears had arisen within her. Nicole had proven herself conniving and dangerous on the ship, not to mention hateful of people different than herself. Once she recovered, would she try to hurt any of the locals? What Pocahontas wanted most of all was not to explain Rolfe’s anger which had so perplexed and troubled Siwili and the others but to warn them of what Nicole was really like. They needed to know to be careful and to refrain from fully trusting her.

The wind whistled in Pocahontas’s ear yet she could still make no sense of it. She thought the effort she was putting into holding herself upright was distracting her so she sat cross-legged and then rolled onto her back and stretched out her legs. She allowed herself to go limp, sinking her full weight into the warm earth. Percy whimpered, sensing her unrest. “Shh. It’s alright, Percy. I’m just trying to listen to the spirits around me,” she murmured, temporarily calming his fears.

The harder Pocahontas tried to listen, the greater her frustration became. At last, resigned to failure, Pocahontas allowed herself to relax and fall into a sleep-like trance. She thought she heard two birds squabbling over the route of their migration. The river water trickled a tale of its anticipation to flow out to sea. The grass spoke of its love for the sun’s rays in a languorous, romantic tone. And then came an unanticipated gust of wind. Its voice, sudden but crystal-clear, whispered in Pocahontas’s ear: _Something wicked comes… Beware, beware._

Pocahontas sat bolt upright, her heart pounding in her ears. Her eyes darted around scanning her surroundings for danger. Percy jumped in alarm at her sudden arousal and yipped. The Powhatan woman hopped to her feet and scrutinized her environment further, her eyes fearful. Percy sniffed the air, looked around, and—sensing nothing—whimpered in confusion at her odd behavior. Hoping for more information, Pocahontas closed her eyes and tried to listen to the wind again to no avail. She heaved a sigh of frustration and looked down at Percy. “It was a warning. I don’t know what about. Something is coming. Something… wicked.”

…

Awenasa had returned to the hut and was once again engaged in a sewing session with her young daughter by the time Pocahontas and Percy returned, not that either of them noticed her presence. Rolfe was busy carving a tiny figurine with a piece of wood and a stone knife when he noticed their arrival. “Welcome back, love,” he greeted, smiling up at Pocahontas.

“Hey,” Pocahontas uttered. The Powhatan woman rubbed her face, not looking at him once as she blurted her quick reply. She went to the shelf and retrieved her belongings, putting on the pants and hooking her machete to her belt as she had before they had arrived in the village.

Rolfe’s eyes widened in alarm at her distracted comportment and he immediately dropped what he was doing. “Is something wrong, Pocahontas? Does this have something to do with Nicole?” he interrogated, casting a glance at a downtrodden Percy as well. The pug laid down before the fire, making no more eye contact than Pocahontas had. Rolfe drew his brows together in concern. “What’s happened? What’s the matter with you two?” he asked, rising to his feet.

Both Awenasa and Aquela looked up from their work as Rolfe approached Pocahontas and turned her to look at him. His touch snapped her out of her trance and she shook her head. “No, John. This has nothing to do with Nicole,” she replied, hoping he would not pry further. She glanced down at Awenasa and her daughter, both of whom looked concerned as well.

“Come outside with me,” Rolfe requested. He turned and left through the open door, beckoning.

Pocahontas sighed and followed him. She realized he should know of the warning too. But how could she possibly explain where it had come from? She still feared he was not ready to know about the world of spirits yet or perhaps it was she who was not ready to tell. But why not?

They walked to the riverbank before Rolfe turned to address Pocahontas. “What’s going on?”

Pocahontas found herself staring into his eyes, her mouth hanging slightly open as she tried to form the words in her brain first. Nothing came and her silence only alarmed Rolfe further.

“Pocahontas, what is it?!” Rolfe demanded. He took her by the biceps and shook her gently.

Pocahontas bit her lower lip and squeezed her eyes shut, vigorously rubbing her brow with the palm of her hand. “It’s… I just get the feeling that something bad is going to happen.”

John Rolfe paused, frowning. “What do you mean? When?”

“I don’t know.”

Rolfe looked perplexed. He scratched his head and glanced at the ground. “You’re sure this has nothing to do with Nicole’s arrival?” he began, meeting Pocahontas's eyes again. “What if…?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Pocahontas hurriedly countered, starting to feel agitated again. She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, closing her eyes. “I just… get a feeling. Promise you’ll keep your eyes out for trouble, John,” she pleaded, meeting his gaze. Movement in her peripheral vision indicated that Percy had followed the two of them outside and was listening in.

Still John Rolfe was not satisfied. “But what makes you feel this way?”

Gazing into his eyes, Pocahontas thought for a moment he might handle the information just fine. He had been so accepting of so many things foreign to him before unlike just about every other white-skinned person she had met to date. “It’s…” she began just before the fears clouded her thoughts again. Would he think she was joking? Would he think her crazy? Or might he believe Nicole’s claim that she was a witch after all? “I… I don’t know,” she said weakly.

Rolfe paused a brief moment before his handsome facial features morphed into a look of keen suspicion. He knitted his brows at Pocahontas, sending a spike of fear through her heart. “You don’t know or you won’t tell?” he replied in a frank tone, placing his hands on his hips.

Pocahontas felt herself flinch, once again made aware of Rolfe’s perceptive nature. He might develop the ability to communicate with spirits himself if only he believed in them, she thought. Rolfe had not failed to notice her flinch and his eyes told her as much. “I…” Pocahontas uttered.

“Why won’t you tell me?”

Pocahontas fell silent again as she wracked her brain for an acceptable response. She could not place Rolfe’s mood just from looking at his face which troubled her to no end. Whether he was angry, hurt, confused, or feeling any other emotion she could not be sure. After considering many different false explanations, Pocahontas finally decided to settle on the truth. “I’m… just not sure that you’re ready to know yet, John. Please don’t ask anymore,” she pleaded.

A look of puzzlement overtook Rolfe’s features. “Not ready to know? What do you mean? I…”

“I _will_ tell you some day. I swear it,” Pocahontas returned.

Rolfe was unsure at first. His uncertainty troubled Pocahontas to no end but finally he sighed and pulled her toward him with a gentle look on his face. “Oh come on, love. You can trust me,” he reassured her, wrapping her arms around his waist. “What could I possibly not be ready to know? I am an adult after all,” he pointed out, hoping to convince her to open up on the matter.

Pocahontas quickly drew away from him, not meeting his eye. “Please just respect I must remain silent for now,” she bit out, holding her breath in expectation of an angry response. Perhaps her distrust alone would prove the breaking point for them. She was begging for his faith in her but how could she expect it from him if she could not return it?

John Rolfe frowned, feeling somewhat hurt by her withdrawal. He pulled his brows together and placed his hands on his hips again. “Very well, Pocahontas. But you can expect I will revisit this topic on the very first day of spring,” he warned, shaking a finger at her.

Pocahontas was more surprised than anything. Rolfe did not appear angry but his behavior did indicate a stern attitude on the matter. He would not let it go forever, that was a certainty. “That sounds fair,” Pocahontas conceded, relaxing a bit. She met his gaze and returned a small smile. “I love you, John. Anyway I think I’m going to go help the women with the harvest.”

Rolfe remained silent but pensive as she made to leave. Once she was twenty paces from him, he called to her with a final thought, “I hope this is not a matter that you fear losing my love over, Pocahontas! I love you more than anything and I don’t want you fear something like that!”

In the depths of Rolfe’s mind, his desire to know Pocahontas’s secret was tied less to his own curiosity than it was to his concern for her. Pocahontas was the most important person in his life. He saw that the mysterious topic troubled her deeply and he felt helpless to assist her while he remained ignorant. But against all odds, he did trust her enough to drop the subject as requested.

Pocahontas, not knowing how else to respond, shook her head and kept going. She suspected truth in what he had said but she hoped it was not so. Did she truly fear losing his love?

When Pocahontas was gone, Rolfe turned to Percy who stood by whimpering a bit. Rolfe frowned. “Not ready to know, huh? You don’t suppose she thinks me like a child?” he inquired of the pug. Rolfe entered a pensive state as he placed a curious finger upon his lower lip. “How bad could it be?” Percy could only shrug so Rolfe sighed and left to find Siwili.

…

Over the next two days John Rolfe, Pocahontas, Meeko, Percy, and Flit accompanied Siwili and Awenasa on morning trips into the forest to check on animal traps and gather wild vegetables and other items. Pocahontas took the opportunity to stretch her healed ankle and go on light runs through the pine trails during these trips to restrengthen it. Rolfe on the other hand was more focused on the layout of the land. He paid particular attention to their surroundings during these outings as he made a mental map of the landscape around them for later use.

One particular location that earned Rolfe’s interest was a beautiful lake several miles north of the village. It was always teeming with fish and game. The Brit was thrilled when he managed to catch a big but very fast water turtle with his bare hands as he waded through the shallow water. Pocahontas had witnessed the act and applauded him for it. When he brought it to show Awenasa and Siwili, they deemed it good enough to bring back to the village for stew.

Bit by bit Pocahontas and Rolfe grew more familiar with the miles of forest surrounding the isolated village. In the afternoons Siwili and Rolfe would go back to work on the dugout canoe or alternatively Siwili would begin teaching Rolfe a new skill when he felt so inclined. At this time Pocahontas always followed the women to the cornfields to gather maize for the harvest.

On one such afternoon Siwili was showing John Rolfe how to make a bow drill to start a fire when both heard a loud whisper coming from behind them. _“Psst! Psst, John!”_

Rolfe looked up in surprise and glanced over his shoulder to find Nicole, clad in a sleeveless buckskin dress with her hair brushed out. She was cowering behind a tree trying to get his attention without being noticed by the locals going about their day nearby. While the girl was less emaciated than she had been days ago, she was still not back to a healthy weight yet. Rolfe clenched his teeth at the sight of her and gave her a dirty look before turning his attention back to tying some cordage to the end of his bow. Siwili watched the tense encounter with a raised brow but when he saw John get back to work, he too turned his attention away from Nicole.

“Please, John. You’re the only one around here who speaks a civilized tongue. These people don’t understand a word I say!” Nicole beseeched, tiptoeing out from behind the tree. Rolfe felt a spike of anger at her insulting use of the word ‘civilized’ but ultimately decided to go on ignoring her, worried she would find it encouraging if he gave her even one iota of attention.

Rolfe felt the warrior tap him on the shoulder once he had finished securing the cord. “Hugué senot passot,” Siwili said, pointing to the nearby fire pit. He took Rolfe’s bow, a dry twig from the wood pile, another indented twig, some crushed up autumn leaves, and a rock with a depression in it. With these items, he began to demonstrate the fire starting technique. Rolfe stood over him watching in fascination as the kindling began to smoke. Just then a group of curious women and children passed by and spotted the blonde. Chattering excitedly, they came over to look at her since she had finally emerged from the remedial hut.

Nicole was irritated by their attentions. “No, no! Go away! Leave me alone!” she snapped. She ran up behind a distracted Rolfe and spun him around to face them as she hid behind his back.

Rolfe was enraged that Nicole would dare to use him as a human shield, let alone interrupt his engrossed learning session. He jerked away from her. “Don’t touch me!” he snapped in French, moving to the other side of the fire pit to continue watching. Unfortunately the kindling had already burst into flame by then and Rolfe had missed it. He growled in irritation. The women and children halted, looking at the unfriendly blonde with confusion written all over their faces. Rolfe did not fail to notice their dejection. “These people saved your life. The least you can do is be nice to them,” he chided Nicole, squatting down to warm his hands by the little fire.

“How are we going to get out of here?” Nicole returned, retreating to her tree to hide behind it instead. She tried to wave the group off. “Shoo! Go on!”

Rolfe narrowed his eyes at her. “What do you mean ‘we’? I’m not going anywhere with you,” he countered, taking his bow back and making a pile of crushed up dry leaves just like Siwili had showed him. He then took the twigs and started to practice the fire starting technique for himself, wrapping the bowstring around the thin piece of wood. He vigorously began thrusting back and forth as he held the twig in place sticking out of the tinder. It was harder than it looked.

Nicole shot him back a look of irritation. “You know what I mean! How long have they been keeping you here? Have you tried to escape?” she interrogated.

Rolfe felt affronted at the suggestion. “I’m not a hostage, you stupid girl! They brought me here to heal from the concussion that _you_ gave me and by God their medicine worked! I couldn’t be more grateful. Do you have any idea how much pain you caused me? Do you even care? Well forget it. You can try to attack me but if you come within fifty feet of my Pocahontas, I _will_ hurt you,” he warned, furiously drilling the bow all the while. The fire burst to life with an audible pop. Rolfe jolted in surprise and fell on his rear, dropping the bow as he stared at the newborn flames in wonder. _“Lord Jesus, that works well…”_ he uttered to himself. Siwili smiled.

Nicole’s face flushed at the accusation. “Wh-what? I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

Rolfe jumped up and stomped a foot on the ground. “Liar! When my memories started coming back, I put the clues together and they all pointed to you. I also remember you pushing Pocahontas off the side of the ship, an observation that she later confirmed. So if you think you’re ever going to get within my good graces again, you’re sadly mistaken. Now bugger off!” he ordained, pointing her to the remedial hut. He turned his attention back to the task at hand.

Nicole looked hurt at Rolfe’s dismissal, not that he noticed or cared as he combined the two fires and added some wood to the flames with Siwili’s help. Awenasa came over carrying a wide dish of seasoned raw fish for the evening’s festivities, taking over the fire that the men had started. Rolfe and Siwili sat aside and watched the latter’s wife cook. Meanwhile Nicole stood there watching Rolfe in silence. Finally she bowed her head. _“I’m sorry,”_ she murmured. When Rolfe refused to acknowledge her apology, she frowned and trudged off without another word.

…

Adahy laid in the grass, his face and muscles contorted in agony. His dog Kelele sat by him whimpering worriedly, a dead rattlesnake hanging from the animal’s mouth. For two weeks Adahy had sought the beached ship in the wake of the storm demon’s wrath but all he found had been washed up barrels and crates. The ship itself was nowhere to be seen. He had nearly lost hope until he came upon a familiar pair of animal footprints in the sand. Adahy identified them as belonging to a small dog and raccoon matching the descriptions of the ones he had seen with the fugitives. He had not long followed them into the forest before he came upon a meadow.

The tall grasses were where Adahy had met with disaster. An unseen lightning-fast rattlesnake had nailed him in the knee with its venomous fangs. He had sliced the skin between the punctures and sucked most of the poison out but the neurotoxin was still enough to put him in immense pain until it cleared his system. With detoxing in mind, Adahy had drunk the rest of the water supply he had brought with him. Still the pain remained hours later at an unbearable level. In fact, the pain was arguably worse. Adahy finally passed out cold in the grass.

It was sunset when Adahy’s eyes opened to the sight of familiar smirking faces standing over him. Kelele growled and yelped as Spike-Eyes pinned him down and held his jaws shut, the dog’s instincts to protect his master proving an inconvenience to the vengeful crew. “Methinks, mates, that we’ve found ourselves the savage traitor responsible for the disappearance of our men,” Flame proposed, holding the tip of his sword to Adahy’s jugular. “Tell me, barbarian. How many of our crew did you kill in total?” he interrogated with a gleam in his eye.

A man to Flame’s right gasped and pointed a shaky finger at Adahy. “The Injun’s hand! Blimey, it’s grown back!” he decried, conjuring a storm of disbelief among the pirates. Even Flame was taken aback at the sight of the restored extremity and he stepped back in awe.

“Do you suppose he made a deal with the devil?”

“It’s black magic!”

“Witchcraft, it be!”

“How did you do it? Tell us, savage!”

“It can’t be real! Poke it with a stick.”

Once Flame got over his immediate shock, he ushered the men back and set the tip of his sword to Adahy’s jugular once again. “Not to worry, men. We’ll all have our explanations, mark my words. The savage will talk if he values his life and, shall I say, _remaining_ limbs,” he declared, the corner of his lips upturning in an ominous smirk. The men snickered amongst themselves. Kelele started to growl though he was unable to escape from Spike-Eyes’s grasp.

Adahy gritted his teeth. The prospect of undergoing even more pain did not appeal to him but he was no coward. He had been trained since childhood in Copichican methods of withstanding the cruelest of tortures. The only thing he truly feared for was his soul and the demon blade knew it. _Reveal my existence to them and I will strike you down in an instant,_ it whispered in his ear.

The former warrior shook his head vigorously back and forth. _I will not betray you,_ he whispered back. _But how shall I prevent them from killing me? I beg your guidance, o Exalted One._

“What’s that, my friend?” Flame spoke. “You don’t value your life and limbs? By the gods! I’ve no need to give you a peaceable death then, do I?” the Irishman warned, lightly pressing the sword to the skin of Adahy’s neck. A single drop of blood appeared on the spot.

 _Be useful,_ the blade advised.

A thought popped to mind and Adahy’s eyes rose, making contact with Flame’s. “Are you still after the paleface and his woman? I was tracking them before I was struck by the snake,” he painfully bit out, his jaw stiff from the effects of the neurotoxin.

The pirate crew froze. Flame’s eyes popped open but he shook his head. “Impossible! The fop stole our ship. How could you be tracking them on the sea when you’ve no means to sail?”

Adahy shot a glance at a felled tree nearby. “Have you not noticed the effects of the storm? There was cargo washed up on the beach. It seems the paleface’s pets were washed overboard in the process. Dare I say he is too _pure-hearted_ to leave the animals to their fates. He will assuredly be on land looking for them,” he replied, spitting out the word ‘pure-hearted’ in distaste.

Flame looked hesitant, his half-disfigured face full of suspicion. “Why did you kill our men? We found their remains on the beach weeks back,” he said, narrowing his eyes at Adahy.

 _Lie,_ the blade whispered. _Blame it on the devil. We shall await a prime opportunity to escape._

Adahy held up his regenerated limb. “I needed sacrifices… In my weakness, I called upon the devil for help. I could not live without any hands at all,” he falsely explained. “I apologize for taking your men but there were no other people to be found at the time and I was desperate.”

The crew all stared at Adahy in shock and then exchanged glances with each other. “I knew it!” Spike-Eyes proclaimed. “I knew he done business with the devil!”

“Don’t you know it’s a bad idea to make deals with Satan, Injun?” Flame chided.

“What choice did I have?” Adahy countered. “Both of my hands were gone. I was helpless.”

The men whispered amongst themselves and then Flame turned back to Adahy. “Fair enough, lad. You’ve convinced me. I shan’t forgive your treachery and allow you to rejoin me crew but I shall spare your life… for now. If you agree to track the fugitives down for us, I will even give my solemn oath that you will be released after they are caught,” he vowed, placing a hand over his heart. He sheathed his sword and offered Adahy a hand. “Have we a deal then?”

Hesitantly, Adahy accepted the hand with his own regrown extremity. Flame yanked him up to his feet. “Yes, Captain Flame,” Adahy replied. “We have a deal.”

Flame turned and yanked out his sword, chopping his way through some thickets. “Tie him up, men. We make camp just over yonder tonight. Our tracker needs more time to recover from his wound and we need to get us some shut-eye ‘fore the dawn strikes tomorrow.”

…

The next morning, Siwili wanted to show Rolfe the basics of animal tracking. The two of them left the village together in a canoe at dawn and headed southeast on the river. It was midmorning by the time they arrived at their location. Rolfe was surprised to discover they were back near the same stretch of tributary where Pocahontas and he had first encountered Siwili and Awenasa.

The brave placed a finger over his mouth to warn Rolfe to be quiet as they crept through the brush. The Englishman watched his step to make as little noise as possible. Fortunately the sound of rushing water helped to cover up his errors. The hunter pointed to a broken vine lying over a protruding root. He pulled some brown fibers off it and showed them to Rolfe. “Pozito,” he said. As Rolfe had learned from the village children days earlier, ‘pozito’ was the local word for deer.

Rolfe nodded. “Pozito,” he repeated in a low voice. He put his hands on the sides of his head and extended his fingers to indicate antlers. “Pozito. Big buck?”

“Siba, alkuné pozito,” Siwili said, widening his arms to indicate a large size.

“Alkuné pozito,” Rolfe repeated as Siwili turned and followed the animal’s trail through some brush. He was delighted to find that he was catching onto the local tongue much faster than he had the Powhatan that Pocahontas had tried to teach him, all because of the immersive environment in the village. Perhaps, Rolfe thought, he simply needed to spend time among the Powhatan people themselves and he would learn their language much more easily. His memory had proven quite pitiful with Pocahontas’s vocabulary drills in comparison.

Siwili and Rolfe emerged on the other side of the brush. A noisy stream flowing west to east masked their noises. Rolfe followed Siwili through a shallow area to the other side. On the muddy shores, the Englishman immediately spotted a large cloven hoof print. He pointed to it silently, getting excited as he doubted he had ever seen such a large deer before.

They followed the trail for a couple miles, Siwili stopping every now and again to point out another new indication that the animal had come through the area. The hunter always tried to explain each sign to the best of his ability using miming and body language. Rolfe had gotten the impression that this trip was more of a learning excursion anyway, more so than a serious hunt. Even if they came home with nothing, he figured the day would be a success.

They stood on a wooded hillock when the animal finally came into sight, grazing quietly in a grassy clearing through the forest. It was a majestic beast from what Rolfe could see. Expansive white antlers adorned its regal head, an extremity supported by a thickly muscled neck and enormous broad chest. It was a sight to behold. Both Rolfe and Siwili crouched low to the ground and stared in awe at the buck for a few minutes. Finally Siwili turned his attention to Rolfe. Without making a sound, he waved his hand to indicate the direction of the wind and then mimed a sniffing action. He pointed south to indicate he would move downwind of the animal and target it from there with his bow. The hunter motioned for Rolfe to remain in place and keep watch as this spot was the best vantage point to witness the noble animal’s demise.

Rolfe nodded, his heart racing slightly in anticipation. Siwili eyed the animal again and moved down the hillock in the opposite direction, using the raised terrain for cover. He circled around southward and quickly fell out of view. Meanwhile Rolfe watched and waited, waited and watched. It seemed to take forever. Rolfe eventually ran out of patience and slowly crept up the low split trunk of a tree to see if he could spot Siwili to the south. The grazing animal was facing away from him so he figured he was in no danger of frightening it with his visible presence.

He scanned the forest with his eyes. It took a couple minutes but he eventually spotted Siwili positioning himself in a tree. A few moments later the hunter was in place and readily took aim with his bow and arrow. Rolfe gazed back toward the buck and held his breath.

**KA-BOOM!**

The sound of a deafening gunshot split the air, making Rolfe nearly jump out of his trousers in fright. The great buck leapt into action, taking off through the forest like a bird on the wing. In milliseconds, the animal had all but vanished. “You missed, ye fool! That could’a been our lunch!” a sinister voice shouted through the trees. “I’m bloody starvin’!”

The sounds of a physical fight and angry bickering ensued. Rolfe gasped. _Pirates…_ he thought. He looked up and tried to find his friend in the trees. When Rolfe spotted Siwili, the native looked even more disconcerted than himself. The hunter appeared to be trying to catch a view of the mysterious strangers through the foliage of the trees without giving away his own location.

Siwili had taught Rolfe many basic things over the past few days, one of which was how to mimic a call of the mockingbird. Rolfe made the sound three times in succession to get Siwili’s attention. The hunter scanned the forest in Rolfe’s direction. Just as he set eyes upon the affrighted white man, Rolfe put a finger to his lips and made a cutthroat gesture across his neck before pointing toward the strangers. He frantically beckoned Siwili to come back in his direction. The hunter in Siwili vanished as the brave awoke and became instantly alert. Rolfe could not detect a single hint of fear on the man’s face. He was truly a seasoned warrior.

As Siwili crept down silently from his own tree, Rolfe did the same and fell into a crouch just as the first pirates came into view in the clearing. They were Flame, the bosun, and Spike-Eyes with his dog Françoise. All appeared to be assessing the spot where the buck had previously stood. “Well the beast is gone, that’s for sure. Ain’t worth cryin’ over spilt milk,” Flame declared. “Come on, men. Let’s keep moving,” he commanded, beckoning them onward. Rolfe bit his lip when it appeared the pirates were headed in the general direction of the village.

The Englishman wracked his brain for an idea, a hint, or a clue. He had to think of something. The worst he imagined was a village burnt to the ground and its inhabitants dead or worse. That was in no way an acceptable eventuality. By his faith in Christ, he could not let such a vision come to pass. _Pocahontas,_ he thought. _I must tell Pocahontas. We’ll think of something!_

Rolfe turned and came face-to-face with Siwili who had his bow drawn. Rolfe shook his head and pushed the weapon down. He grabbed his friend by the hand and began dragging him off in the opposite direction. _“Bad men! Very bad men!”_ he whispered. _“Mustn’t trifle with.”_

They moved through the trees as quickly as possible, returning on the same path they had come. In record time, they reached the canoe at the river’s bank. Rolfe shoved it right into the water and hopped in, waiting a few seconds for Siwili to take his place in the back. The Englishman began to paddle like his life depended on it and the native took a cue and did the same.

…

Pocahontas and Awenasa were working the cornfields, the former’s ever-watchful friends Percy and Flit at her side while Meeko was preoccupied with stealing corn from Pocahontas’s basket. “Meeko! We’re supposed to be gathering food right now, not eating it,” she chided. “At least you could take it directly from the stalks and not my basket, you little mischief-maker.”

Pocahontas had fallen back into the rhythm of picking husks and dropping them into her basket when she thought she heard a minute pop sound. It was almost inaudible from the distance but she looked up just as Percy started to bark frantically, confirming her suspicion. “Percy, did that sound like a gunshot to you?” Pocahontas inquired, receiving a brisk nod and another yip. The young woman’s heart began to pound in a moment of panic. “John! We’ve got to find John!”

Flit became alert as he buzzed above the tall cornstalks, squinting his eyes in the direction of the noise. Awenasa glanced at Pocahontas and Percy with an inquisitive look just before Pocahontas ran off toward the village with her full basket under arm. The animals followed. The warrior’s wife ran after her, only catching up to her when they reached the village. Pocahontas began calling John Rolfe and Siwili’s names and searching the area. “Pocahontas, ou besat no Djahn en Siwili to kimé adukso kami ras?” Awenasa asked, perplexed by Pocahontas’s panic.

Pocahontas hurriedly ran over to Awenasa. “John and Siwili! Where are they?” she inquired, raising her shoulders in a shrug to denote the question.

Awenasa mimed shooting something with a bow and pointed to a canoe on the nearby riverbank. Then she pointed southeast. “That’s where I heard the gunshot! They’re hunting out there? John doesn’t have a gun with him!” Pocahontas cried, shaking her friend slightly. Awenasa still did not understand the Powhatan woman’s frenzied behavior. Pocahontas growled in frustration and dropped her corn basket to the ground, darting over to the canoe. “Meeko, Percy, come on!” The aforementioned animals jumped into the canoe as Pocahontas pushed it out into the water. She waved her arm for Awenasa to come along and help her paddle. “We must find them!”

Awenasa still did not understand but she went along with Pocahontas’s request anyway and got into the canoe in the front position. Pocahontas sat in the back and started to paddle like crazy as Flit followed along on the wing. They traveled southeast on the river for about an hour before another canoe came into view far downriver. “John Rolfe! John, is that you?!” Pocahontas called, cupping her mouth with her hands to help project the sound of her voice.

“Yes, it’s me!” Rolfe called back.

By the time they reached each other, both of them were panting in exhaustion. They took a hold of each other’s canoes in the calm water. “John, Percy and I heard a gunshot. Did you hear it?”

“Yes, Pocahontas! It’s the pirates! They’ve found us. They’re trailing us as we speak!” Rolfe revealed. “It seems your instincts a few days back were correct.”

Pocahontas glanced back in the direction of the village. “We can’t lead them to the village!”

“Precisely, love,” John Rolfe replied. “Now listen, I’m glad you came to find us because I’ve got a plan. There are dozens of innocent men, women, and children in that village. They haven’t got the right weapons to defend themselves. If Flame and his crew find the village, there’ll be a bloodbath and they _will_ find the village if we do nothing because they’ve got dogs on our scent trail. Now what I want you to do is go back to the village right now. Take Siwili and Awenasa with you. Try to communicate to our friends that we need supplies for a long journey to the best of your ability. We need food and warm clothes and anything else you can think of. Understand? We won’t be able to stay in the village over the winter after all. We’re the ones those pirates want so we’ve got to be the ones to lead them away. I am going to go back and get the crew to follow me on a long path westward and then north in a circle around the village. You and I will meet on the far side of the north lake. From there, we head home.”

Pocahontas bit her lower lip. “But, John, you’re going to go all by yourself?! At least take Siwili with you. He’s a warrior. He can protect you if…”

“No, he can’t and you know it,” Rolfe countered. “He doesn’t have the right kind of weapon. Secondly we don’t want the pirates to know that we’ve befriended the natives around here. They could use that friendship against us so we mustn’t be seen with them. Don’t worry, Pocahontas. I don’t plan on confronting them up close. I merely plan to have them chase me from a distance and I will keep well ahead of them. On that note, I could use Flit’s help if anything.”

Flit immediately chirped twice and dutifully saluted Rolfe, buzzing over to land on the Englishman’s shoulder. Pocahontas still looked terrified. She was shaking. “John, please be careful. If anything happened to you I don’t know that I could…”

John Rolfe reached over and kissed her on the lips, thus silencing her. “Have faith, my love. I will do my very best to steer clear of them, I swear it,” he articulated.

“But what if you get lost? What if both you and Flit get lost?”

“Since when has Flit ever gotten lost?” Rolfe countered. “He’s a bird with an inner compass. Even if he’s forgone doing so in order to stay with you, he’s meant to migrate long distances. Now we must part here, Pocahontas. There’s no time. I’ll see you on the far side of the north lake, alright? Given the much farther distance I’ve got to travel, you should be able to get there first and wait for me with Percy and Meeko at your side. Now scoot up a spot so Siwili can sit in the rear. He’s the strongest,” he urged, motioning for Pocahontas to move.

Pocahontas moved and Rolfe motioned for Siwili to climb into the other canoe. The warrior and his wife had been listening intently during the conversation though they had no idea what was being said. Nevertheless they were on high alert, especially Awenasa once Siwili had whispered to her just what had transpired on the hunting range. Siwili raised a brow at the request to switch boats but, trusting his friends, he did so without delay.

Rolfe pointed them northwest. “Now go back to the village fast as you can, the lot of you!” he ordered, pushing his canoe away from theirs. He scooted himself to the rear of his canoe and used his oar to aim the boat southeast. Then he glanced over his shoulder to wave goodbye.

Siwili reached out for Rolfe once he realized the Englishman intended to head back toward the danger zone. “Supe hofe ro ro tizoro, Djahn?!” he called out, intensely worried.

“It’s alright, Siwili,” John Rolfe responded. “Go back to the village!”

Pocahontas tapped Siwili on the shoulder and pointed northwest, starting to paddle. Still perplexed, Siwili and Awenasa joined her although Siwili could not help but glance over his shoulder one final time as Rolfe disappeared in the distance. “Keep an eye out for him, Flit!” Pocahontas shouted after them. She sighed and began to paddle with all her might.

With Siwili’s help, it took less than an hour to return to the village. When they arrived, they pushed the canoe up on the bank and then Pocahontas turned to Siwili and Awenasa. _It’s now or never,_ she thought. She grabbed a hold of both of their wrists to get their attention and looked them straight in the eye. “Talk to me,” she urgently directed. “Use words.” She let go of Siwili’s arm to mime a talking gesture with her hand. “I need to hear you talk.”

Siwili raised a brow and exchanged glances with his wife before returning his gaze to Pocahontas. “Solo no abitso zimas, Pocahontas?” he inquired, confused.

Pocahontas let her eyes fall closed as she repeated the words to herself in a bare whisper. _Don’t fail me now, spirits,_ she wished hopefully. _Help me, Mother. Help me understand._ She pressed a hand to her heart, feeling its gentle beating vibrations. “Solo no abitso zimas…” she said again.

Pocahontas felt herself fall into a trance as a breeze picked up and encircled the three of them with golden autumn leaves. The Powhatan woman heard Awenasa’s voice whispering to her husband, _“Soré amnos to ras gobleté, Siwili. Pocahontas has gonves her mind.”_

“That’s what I’m starting to think too,” Siwili said loud and clear.

Pocahontas’s eyes popped open. Siwili and Awenasa stared back at her in turmoil. Pocahontas wet her lips and began hesitantly, enunciating the foreign words to the best of her newfound ability. “Do… you… understand… me?” The two locals gasped and jumped back in alarm. Percy’s jaw dropped in disbelief and he looked at Meeko to assess the raccoon’s reaction as well. Meeko had a celebratory look on his face but it was absent of any hint of surprise. “Do you understand me?” Pocahontas repeated, hurriedly. “Please, there is no time! We are in danger!”

Siwili and Awenasa’s faces were fraught with incredulity as they exchanged stunned glances with each other and then looked back to Pocahontas. Siwili was the first to speak. “How is it that you know Gunalo?” he inquired hesitantly, not knowing what to make of the bizarre development.

“I have a gift,” Pocahontas returned. “I’ve been trying to use it for awhile but I have not succeeded until now. I am clairvoyant, you see. I commune with the spirits.”

Awenasa’s eyes widened even further. “I’ve heard tales of people like you but never met one.”

“Quick, there is no time,” Pocahontas urged. “Your people are in danger. Siwili, what did you and John see while you were out hunting? Did you see a band of strange men?”

Siwili raised a brow. “Yes, I did. John indicated they were dangerous. Who are they?”

“They are called ‘pirates’ and they’re some of the most evil people that roam the earth. The ones that you saw are after John and I, especially John. But they will not hesitate to attack your village. They kill at will, raid for supplies, and do unspeakable things to the women,” Pocahontas warned, a look of revulsion on her face. “For _fun_. They are very brutal towards women.”

Siwili was set to an instant rage, sheltering a terrified Awenasa behind him as he brandished his bow in the air. “Over my dead body, they will. If they come to this village, we warriors will destroy them. You will see! Why did John go back toward them?” he inquired worriedly.

“I was getting to that part,” Pocahontas continued. “You see, those pirates carry very powerful weapons that shoot fire and thunder. Your longbows and war clubs are no match. If they get to this village there will be an absolute bloodbath and the blood that is shed will be yours, not theirs. John knows this and he came up with a plan to lead them away. He is going to get them to chase him westward and then north around the village. He plans to meet up with me at the north lake that you showed us on the far side. From there we are going to continue our northward journey. You see, my tribe is very far north from here. We were traveling that way before John got his concussion. You saved our lives before and we are grateful. Please give us the chance to return the favor. It is going to be a long, hard journey and we are going to need supplies. We need food and warm clothes at the very least. Can you provide us these things?”

“Is John crazy?!” Siwili protested, alarmed at the information. “He could be killed if they catch him! He doesn’t know this territory. He could get lost!”

Pocahontas almost snorted. “He could be worse than killed. He could be tortured.”

A look of panic overcame Siwili's face and his heart began to race. The safety of his close friends was never something he took lightly. “We must hurry!” he blurted.

Awenasa was taken aback at the sight of her husband whom she had never seen show even the slightest hint of fear before. “We will supply you,” she returned to Pocahontas, stepping out from behind Siwili with a determined expression. “Come, we must go to the storehouse.”

“Wait!” Pocahontas turned to Siwili and Awenasa glanced back at them. “You must go tell your chief and have him bring the villagers together in a meeting so everyone knows to stay inside the village. If possible you should hide the women and children just in case,” Pocahontas advised.

“I will but do not leave before I have a chance to see you again, Pocahontas,” Siwili replied. “I must come with you. If you’re planning on traveling straight north of here, you will be running directly into enemy territory. There is a hostile tribe known as the Duale who inhabit that area. They are very violent and brutal. Sometimes they attack us to take our women and children just to bolster their own numbers. If they capture you, they will force you to join their tribe and as for John—I cannot be sure but my intuition tells me that they will likely cage him like an animal and parade him from village to village just because of the way he looks.”

Pocahontas gasped. “Oh no!… Thanks for telling me. How can we…?”

“I will lead you safely around their territory. Now I must go speak to the chief as you mentioned and you must go help Awenasa put travel packs together for the journey,” Siwili explained. He then turned to his wife. “Awe, make one pack for John, one for Pocahontas, and one for me.”

Awenasa nodded. She took Pocahontas firmly by the hand and hurried them off to the storehouse, Meeko and Percy in fast pursuit. Siwili went to find Chief Heamalahilo.

…

Making as little noise as possible, Rolfe pushed the canoe gently up on shore and hid it within a throng of cattails. He had sent Flit off on a mission to discover the crew’s whereabouts. It was not long before the hummingbird returned and pointed his beak eastward. _“Perfect!”_ Rolfe whispered. _“Are they currently on the move?”_ Flit nodded fervently. _“Alright, let’s go.”_

John Rolfe hurried through the forest as quickly and silently as he could. He had not been on the move more than ten minutes before a loud gunshot up ahead caused him to trip and fall on his face. It was followed by a round of cheers. The Englishman rose to his feet and dusted himself off before tiptoeing slowly and silently through a throng of saplings and shrubbery. He got a second start when a baby whitetail deer that was beginning to lose its spots for winter nearly bowled him over. Fortunately he spread his legs just in time and the little animal darted under him and made off in the opposite direction. Rolfe glanced back over his shoulder at the fleeing fawn with a raised eyebrow. “What the…?” he uttered to himself. Rolfe looked at Flit and the hummingbird shrugged, just as confused as his human companion.

“Aye, men! Build the fire for the feast! The beast is fresh and fatted for the winter!” Flame’s voice declared aloud from a distance. A few gunshots went off and the men cheered again. “Don’t waste bullets, ye knuckleheads!” he reprimanded his crew.

Rolfe slunk through the forest with Flit in tow, keeping low to the ground as he neared the pirating party. He crawled stealthily on hands and knees up a small hillock and peered through some foliage at the large clearing where the crew had stationed themselves. Two men were building a fire pit while the bosun was busy slitting a dead doe down the belly with a knife. The guts popped out and Rolfe clapped a hand over his mouth, gagging. _“Oh no!”_ he whispered, knitting his brows in woe. _“She must’ve been that little fawn’s mummy… Those cads!”_

“I dare ye to eat the heart raw, bosun!” one of the men joked.

Flit glared at the pirates in ire and nearly charged at them but Rolfe held a hand up to stop him. _“No, Flit! Not yet. I know how awful they are but we must stay put for now until they’re ready to move again. Just be patient, alright?”_ John Rolfe whispered. Flit reluctantly nodded.

“Spike-Eyes!” Flame snapped irritably at his first mate who appeared to be loafing around with his dog. “If you haven’t anything useful to do, then least you could gather up some firewood for the cookin’!” The captain pointed Spike-Eyes exactly in Rolfe’s direction.

“Aye, cap’n!” Spike-Eyes called back with a quick salute. Rolfe gasped as the imposing figure rose and began to march directly toward him and the alarmed hummingbird.

Rolfe’s eyes darted around trying to find a place to hide on his side of the hillock. Saplings and shrubbery were sparse for nearly fifteen paces and he had not enough time to make it to a decent hiding spot before Spike-Eyes arrived—at least not without being heard and seen. Rolfe swallowed a lump in his throat and trembled in fear as the enemy approached, unsure what to do.


	15. Catch Me if You Can

****Flit darted out from the foliage and went straight for Spike-Eyes’s face, buzzing around him like an annoying pest. The aforementioned pirate shrieked in a high-pitched voice and tried to swat the hummingbird right out of the air. “Blimey! The bugs round here are massive like the one what stung the bosun!” he decried, running back to the crew. Flit only chased him for part of the way. “Cap’n! Cap’n! Tell no one to go over yonder, there’s probably a whole bloody hive!”

Flame was not impressed. “Spike-Eyes, ye yellow belly! I oughta…”

“He’s right, captain,” the bosun chimed, scraping the doe’s innards out onto the bloodied ground. “We’re in dire straights as it is. Wouldn’t want anyone in the crew to lose an eye at this point.” He was no longer wearing his patch as his ocular injury had already healed. Still the prospect of another such sting did not appeal to him in the least.

Flame rolled his eyes with a sigh. “Fine, bosun,” he conceded. “Men, no one’s to go over that-a way,” he commanded, pointing toward Rolfe just as the hummingbird returned to his side.

John Rolfe uttered a chuckle. _“Flit, you never cease to amaze me,”_ he whispered. _“You made that cur scream like a little girl. Well done, my friend. You are a true lifesaver.”_

In response, Flit puffed out his chest and gave Rolfe a proud look.

John Rolfe squinted his eyes to get a better look at the crew. Their numbers had dwindled to under twenty men but they were still armed and dangerous. When Rolfe scanned one man in particular, he had to do a double-take. _“It’s him, Flit!”_ Rolfe exclaimed, pointing. _“I’d recognize that face anywhere! That fellow attacked me with a demon-possessed knife, remember?! But how could he possibly be alive after Pocahontas…”_ he uttered, tapering off at the end as he craned his neck for a better view. Upon further examination, Rolfe discovered that the man’s arms were tied behind his back. The captive sat cross-legged on the forest floor with a dog by his side, waiting for his portion of the venison. _“The pirates must’ve saved him somehow,”_ Rolfe theorized. _“He used to be one of them back on the ship but now they’ve got him tied up like a hostage. I wonder what in the world changed between them.”_

Flit shrugged and kept his eyes on the tattooed visage. Rolfe and Flit kept watch on the pirates as they made a fire pit and roasted the venison. They were so ravenous from lack of easy access to food that they consumed every scrap of meat and most of the internal organs. “Eh! Don’t eat the kidneys, ye nut. They taste like piss!” Demon Dave chided his friend. “Toss ‘em to the mutts.”

“I’m still hungry!” Patch Fiddick protested.

Demon Dave took one of the long leg bones and positioned his knife at the end. He used a rock to hammer it downward, thus splitting the bone in two. “The marrow’s where it’s at, mate.”

“If only we could find a village and raid it for supplies,” Patch lamented.

John Rolfe gritted his teeth and turned to Flit. _“We’ve got to steer clear of Siwili’s village no matter what,”_ he whispered, receiving a nod of agreement from the hummingbird.

“Would be nice to find some wenches too,” Sick Phillip chimed. “Even the savage kind. Beggars can’t be choosers. Curse that Ignacio for stealing our Frenchies!”

Rolfe raised a brow. _“Ignacio?”_ he uttered, glancing at Flit. The hummingbird shrugged.

“To hell with wenches!” Patch protested. “I just want some’n to eat!”

“If we find that Ignacio, I’m gonna gut ‘im like a fish!” Demon Dave growled.

Flame rose to his feet and flipped out his sword. “I’ll be the one to decide what becomes of Ignacio once we get our mitts on ‘im!” he declared, pointing the tip of his sword toward the offending commenter. He glanced around at the others. “Anyone got a problem with that?”

“No, cap’n!” came a cacophony of voices all around the campfire.

“Good!” Flame replied, sheathing his sword. “Now hurry up, men. If we’re ever to catch up to Señor Ignacio, we’ve got to move faster! No time to dawdle!”

…

Adahy sat quietly with Kelele during the meal. Though he had only been given a meager portion of the venison, he withheld any complaints because he wished to lure the pirates into a false sense of trust in preparation for his escape. Though he had been relieved of his firearms and other supplies upon capture, the crew had not thought to check his boots for the demon blade.  _I sense a pure soul is very close,_ the dagger whispered in his ear. _I must have it!_

 _The men are watching me,_ Adahy returned. _I cannot possibly attempt an escape right now._

The blade’s anger flared. _We must come up with a distraction!_ it insisted. Adahy glanced over at his dog Kelele. The animal had not been bound because Adahy had sworn to keep the very obedient French hound under control for the crew. _Now you’re getting the right idea._

Adahy shook his head. _I would rather not endanger my dog. There must be another way._

 _It’s just a stupid animal, fool!_ the blade protested, sending a jolt of electric pain through Adahy’s nervous system. He screamed and collapsed on the forest floor, curling into a fetal position.

Suddenly every eye in the crew was fixated on the copper-skinned captive. “What’s troubling you, savage?” Demon Dave inquired. He rose to his feet and marched over to Adahy, nudging him a bit with the tip of a boot. “Leftover rattlesnake venom, is it?”

Flame tossed a full skin of water to Dave. “Oughta help flush it out of the Injun’s system, eh?”

As Demon Dave brought the lip of the skin to Adahy’s mouth, the Copichican fervently shook his head in refusal. “No, it’s not the rattlesnake,” he bit out. “It’s just from an old injury. It will go away,” he lied. _You’re attracting their attention. Was that not the opposite of our goal?_ Adahy pointed out to the demon. _Please, stop. I will think of something within the hour. I swear it!_

 _You will keep your word or I will take what I need from you,_ the blade swore, going inactive once more. Adahy allowed himself to relax once the pain had vanished.

Adahy felt someone yank him upright into a sitting position. He glanced up to find Captain Flame standing over him with a curious look on his face. “Better?” Flame inquired.

The Copichican returned a nod. “Aye, sir.”

…

“So tell me, Pocahontas,” Siwili began as they jogged through the woods. Both had big heavy travel packs on their backs, supported by their hips with leather straps. It made the weight much easier to bear. The warrior’s bow and quiver were in turn strapped to the travel pack on his own back. In his powerful arms, Siwili carried a third pack intended for John Rolfe. Meeko and Percy trailed behind the two humans, keeping up an equal pace. “Why do John and Nicole look the way they do? Are they from the same tribe?” Siwili inquired curiously.

Pocahontas shook her head, panting lightly. “No. John is English and Nicole is French,” she disclosed. “Their people are allies but they are not of the same nation. Both of their lands are found very far across the saltwater. You need a giant canoe called a ‘ship’ to get there. A ship can carry hundreds of people and enough supplies to last for many moons.”

Siwili’s eyes widened at the concept but then he blinked in confusion. “You say they are allies but John appears to hate Nicole. Why is this?” he asked.

Pocahontas chuckled. “John does not hate all the French, only Nicole,” she clarified.

“Why?”

Pocahontas sucked in a breath, reluctant to address the subject. “Because Nicole unfortunately tried to kill me. She wanted John and I was in the way. I suppose she thinks I am unworthy of him because I am not white,” she explained in an irritated tone. “She thinks herself superior.”

Siwili was taken aback. “What is wrong with not being white?”

“Nothing really,” Pocahontas continued. “But according to some white women, you must be pale to be pretty. I was told this a few times in Jamestown, an English settlement in my homeland. Their word ‘fair’ has two meanings: both light-skinned and beautiful. In other words, to be pretty is to be white. Some of the older women even advised me to spend less time in the sun.”

Siwili shook his head at the foreign concept. “You are very beautiful, Pocahontas. To base beauty off of color alone is absurd,” he expressed, making momentary but meaningful eye contact.

A little grin made its way onto Pocahontas’s face. “Thank you. John thinks so too. He is traveling back to my homeland with me to ask my father for my hand.”

“Aha!” Siwili exclaimed, glancing excitedly at her. “I’ve been wondering if you two were married. So you do wish to wed once you have your father’s permission then?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well John is very lucky to have you,” Siwili asserted. “As I am lucky to have Awenasa.” They ran for two minutes in silence before Siwili blurted, “Will you bear him children?”

Pocahontas flushed but then chuckled lightly. “We haven’t discussed it yet but I hope so.”

Siwili grinned. “You want many children? How many?”

“Oh, at least six I’d say,” Pocahontas replied with a shrug. “Both girls and boys.”

“I hope the Great Spirit blesses you with many fruitful years then, Pocahontas. There is nothing better than a woman who cherishes motherhood. I pray to our Creator that you become a mother to many and a grandmother to even more,” Siwili expressed.

“Thank you!”

“It makes me wonder what your children might look like with John’s features and yours combined,” Siwili speculated, letting his imagination go to work.

Pocahontas smiled again, shrugging. “We’ll just have to find out.” She went silent for a minute as she herself pondered on what the future would hold. A thought occurred to her. “Siwili, I need you to do me a favor,” she suddenly said, glancing over at him.

“Yes, anything. What is it?”

“When we meet up with John, I need you to pretend that I cannot speak Gunalo. John does not know about my gift nor is he aware of the existence of spirits. I plan to tell him when the time is right but I do not believe he is ready to know yet,” Pocahontas explained. Siwili came to a sudden stop. Pocahontas did the same and looked back at him worriedly. “Is something wrong?”

“John does not know about spirits?!” Siwili exclaimed in disbelief.

Pocahontas shook her head. “Not yet.”

“How could he possibly not know?” Siwili asked. “Has he never been spoken to by a spirit?”

“He does not know to listen,” Pocahontas explained.

The very concept of Rolfe’s ignorance blew Siwili's mind. “I thought everybody knew. The world is a much odder place than I thought,” he said, shaking his head as he started to jog again.

Pocahontas picked up the pace as well. “It sure is. Believe me, I’ve seen some of the most incredible things. John’s village, for one. It’s huge, like bigger than you could ever imagine. There’s literally thousands upon thousands of people crammed into it!”

 _“Sacred spirits…”_ Siwili whispered to himself, his eyes widening. “What is it called?”

“London.”

“Our village is called Comosamico,” Siwili offered. “And our tribe, Gunalo.”

Pocahontas smiled. “My village is Werowocomoco and my tribe, Powhatan.”

…

The pirates had packed up their supplies and were just about to move again. Demon Dave had wrapped a loose rope around Adahy’s neck once the Copichican was back on his feet. It appeared that the pirate would be using it as a leash. Dave whistled twice. “Here, boy. Come, let’s get a move on,” he teased, chuckling to himself from implying that Adahy was a canine.

The bound man kept calm, only rolling his eyes at Dave’s bad attempt at a joke. He whistled for his own dog Kelele and then followed his captor. Flame was at the head of the pack, sword in hand. He pointed it northwest. “Bring the Injun over here so he can pick up the trail again for us, Dave.” The aforementioned pirate approached and let Adahy walk ahead of him.

“Let them smell the boot again,” Adahy said. Spike-Eyes came over and pulled a boot out of his sack, offering it down to the dogs Kelele and Françoise. They both took a long whiff.

Rolfe immediately recognized it as his own boot. That was when he realized that he was positioned upwind from the pirates. Françoise immediately growled and pointed her nose straight west. Flit glanced at Rolfe with panic on his face but Rolfe just returned a grin. The opportunity was ripe. _“Not to worry. This is precisely what I wanted. Just watch, Flit,”_ he whispered.

“Dogs aren’t attracted to insects, are they?” Spike-Eyes inquired as his dog had just pointed them in the direction of the alleged ‘hive.’

Flame cleared his throat. “Not to worry, men. We’ll just go around it.”

Rolfe picked up a medium-sized stone. He lightly tossed it straight up in the air and deftly caught it. Then he rose to his feet when the crew was distracted and chucked the stone directly at Flame’s head, hitting him on the shoulder instead. _Whoops! Oh well,_ Rolfe thought just as Flame let loose an angry howl. The Englishman held back a mischievous snicker.

“Who done that?! Who be throwin’ rocks?” Flame roared, snapping a glare at his crew.

Rolfe boldly stepped out from behind the foliage into plain view. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Don’t you recognize me, old chap?! It’s John Rolfe, surprise, surprise!”

Flit squeaked in laughter but kept out of sight.

A look of the most impassioned ire overcame Flame’s entire visage. He drew his brows together, flared his nostrils, and clenched his jaws and fists. His face turned dark red and his whole frame trembled in pure, unadulterated fury. “You! Where’s me ship? Blast you, hand it over!”

The crew was in a sudden uproar.

“It’s Ignacio!”

Demon Dave pointed. “The Spaniard! It’s him!”

“Stretch the thief until every bone in his body pops!”

“Where’re our French maidens?!” Spike-Eyes demanded.

“Give yourself up, ye jackanapes!”

Meanwhile the bosun reached for his machete. _“Ivory Man…”_ he seethed.

“Ignacio?” Rolfe returned with an inquisitive yet amused look on his face. “Any dunderhead can see I’m as English as they come. I haven’t a clue what any of you dimwits are talking about.”

All the men turned their heads to look at Flame questioningly. As soon as the captain realized this, he concealed a look of panic and drew his sword. He pointed it straight at Rolfe. “Lies! We found a document revealing your true identity, Juan Ignacio! We can’t be fooled!”

Rolfe laughed out loud. “Well someone must’ve forged it cause I’m telling you, I’m no Spaniard,” he announced. “But I suppose the lot of you can believe what you will, makes no difference to me. If you want your ship back, you’ve got to get me first. Catch me if you can, you ugly old bugger!” Rolfe turned on a heel and darted back the way he had come, heading west.

“WE’LL SEE WHO’S UGLIER WHEN I’M DONE WITH THE LIKES OF YOU, FOP!” Flame roared. He thrust his sword westward with a furious motion. “After him, men! The one to catch him gets to make him suffer first!” he announced as the whole crew raced after the fleeing man. The captain spurred himself into a run as well and spotted the bosun up ahead. Flame caught up to him. “Bosun! I want ye to do me a special favor, eh? A former jungle dweller like you should make fast way through a forest. Take Françoise and split off southward from the other men. Then circle around and see if you can’t ambush the Spaniard unawares,” he proposed.

The bosun nodded and replied, “Aye, sir.” He caught up to Spike-Eyes and took hold of Françoise’s lead. “Captain’s orders, mate. I’m to take the hound from here.” Spike-Eyes did not have time to protest before the bosun sped off with the dog, veering off the trail.

Ten minutes later Rolfe darted through the trees far up ahead, making a good head start for himself as he was very fast on his feet—particularly when running for his life. Flit buzzed alongside him as he purposefully stomped on twigs, roots, vines, and low-lying branches to leave as obvious a trail behind him as possible. “I know I technically should be scared out of my mind but quite to the contrary I seem to be having a good bit of fun,” Rolfe chuckled to Flit who appeared to be in the same high spirits. He leaped over a small stream with all the agility of a young buck, landing squarely on a flat boulder and then dashing off on another pine trail.

A high-pitched sound almost like a bleat came from up ahead and confused Rolfe and Flit at first. When they reached a medium-sized meadow they found a familiar face crying out for its lost mother. Rolfe spied the fawn over the tall grass as it cowered by a protruding boulder, frightened and alone. Flit shot a glance of hurried concern to John Rolfe.

“We can’t leave her alone, Flit. Without a mum she hasn’t got a chance,” Rolfe asserted. He headed straight for the baby deer and scooped her up on the fly, cradling the trembling little body safely to his chest. “It’s alright, love. We won’t let you go hungry.”

They reached the end of the meadow just as a gunshot rang out. The trunk of a young pine tree ahead of them exploded so they quickly banked left and into the forest. “Don’t shoot him, you nitwit! I want that Ignacio alive!” Flame’s agitated voice echoed across the distance.

…

Pocahontas and Siwili were panting lightly when they reached the north side of the lake where they expected to meet up with John Rolfe. They dropped their supplies to the ground and allowed themselves to take a rest on the pine needle-laden forest floor. “How long do you think it’ll take John to get here? I know he has many miles to travel if he wishes to steer clear of the village. It could take him all day… I’m so worried!” Pocahontas expressed, her heart pounding.

Siwili retrieved his bow and quiver from the travel pack and rose to his feet. “I will run to meet John. Do not worry, Pocahontas. I will not let the evildoers bring harm to him.”

Pocahontas looked even more terrified. “Okay but be careful, Siwili! Those men have deadly weapons. Don’t let them make you a target! If they take aim at you, run for cover!”

“Not to worry,” Siwili returned. He trudged to the water’s edge and slopped copious amounts of mud on his face and body. “The trick to avoiding enemy projectiles is blending in with the forest. What they cannot see, they cannot shoot. I will go and find John and bring him back with me. This will take several hours at the very least so I encourage you to be patient. It could very well be nightfall before we return.” He then moved over to the low-lying branch of a nearby pine tree and broke off several twigs with green pine needles sticking out of them, shoving each twig into his dark hair. “You stay and guard the supplies.” Then he took off in a southwesterly direction.

“Good thinking!” Pocahontas called after him and then glanced at Percy and Meeko. They looked upset but also eager to follow Siwili. “You can go with him but you have to keep up. He won’t slow down for either of you. Not that _you_ need any help, Meeko.” Percy yipped happily and Meeko cooed in excitement just before they ran off in pursuit of the brave.

…

It was three hours before Rolfe felt safe to head north, certain that he had surpassed the village. Then it was another hour before he found the huge river that he had canoed on so often. Flit looked worried. “It’s alright, Flit. I’ve anticipated this,” Rolfe expressed, glancing around the forest. He put the little fawn down on the soft ground where she curled into a fetal position and ran over to a massive fallen log. He kicked and pried off a big thick piece of bark. It was curved around in the shape of the trunk and was big enough to shelter the fawn.

“This ought to do it,” Rolfe said, carrying the bark over to the fawn. He put the bark down and placed the baby doe inside it. “She won’t stay completely dry but she won’t be submerged either. Luckily the water’s calm up here and not too cold.” He pushed his arms under the curve of the bark and lifted the entire thing up, fawn and all. Then he headed straight for the water.

Rolfe trudged through the mud and waded into the water, placing the bark afloat on the surface. He had to push the little raft through some aquatic grasses and cattails but he eventually came clear through to the other side and made his way into the wide blue water. He used one hand to push the raft along and all three remaining limbs to propel them forward.

Flit buzzed overhead, looking back over his shoulder to see if the pirates were close. “They’ve fallen behind quite a ways,” Rolfe asserted. “Go ahead and take a rest on the raft if you want, Flit. I’ll do all the work until we reach the other side.”

Still looking concerned, the hummingbird made to land on the fawn’s back. The little deer felt some water under her belly and started to bleat again in distress, fearful of drowning.

“It’s alright, love,” Rolfe cooed in a reassuring tone. “We’ll be dry again soon enough.”

It took nearly twenty minutes to cross the river and Rolfe had kept up a fast swimming pace the whole time. Now feeling winded, he picked the fawn up off the bark raft and carried her up onto the dry riverbank. He found a nice sunny spot on some grass and put her there to dry off. She quickly pushed herself into an upright position with her front legs tucked under her and began to chew on the little autumn blossoms that grew on the grass.

Rolfe flipped off his shirt and began wringing the water out of it before hanging it from a low oak branch. He hid partly behind the medium-sized oak as he spied across the water to see if the pirates had caught up. No one was in sight. Flit buzzed by with a worried look on his face, concerned about Rolfe’s stalling. “It’s alright, Flit. I don’t want them to fall too far behind and end up going in the wrong direction. God forbid they stumble on the village,” Rolfe explained. He took off his boots and poured out the water and then he removed and wrung out his trousers.

Just then a gunshot was heard over the water. Rolfe hurriedly shoved his legs back into his trousers and secured his belt just before he spotted Spike-Eyes emerging from the forest. The rest of the crew was not far behind. They were looking around the riverbank trying to figure out where Rolfe had gone. Flame pointed to some bootprints in the mud. Rolfe grabbed his shirt and stepped out from behind the tree into plain view. He draped the shirt over his elbow and put the fingers of both hands in his mouth, whistling loud enough to wake the dead. “Hey, Flame! You slowpokes are going to have to hurry it up if you don’t want me to escape on _your_ ship!” Rolfe called provokingly across the water, waving his shirt in the air to get their attentions.

“GET BACK HERE, YOU MISERABLE WHELP!” Flame roared at the top of his lungs, brandishing a fist from the muddy bank. He snapped a furious glance back at his crew. “Tie your gunpowder to your heads and follow him. And be quick about it!” he ordered, doing so himself with an impressive speed. The captain waded into the water and swam with all his might.

John Rolfe pulled his shirt back on and rushed over to where he had left the fawn. He picked her up and headed straight north with only the sun as his guide. Rolfe continued to jog for the next two hours before stopping to catch some wind. “Phew! I don’t know about you, Flit, but I’m exhausted and hungry.” Rolfe scanned his surroundings. There was a large stream up ahead. Otherwise it was nothing but forest for miles and miles with only the occasion stream or tributary to break up the heavily wooded landscape. “I’m not sure if we’ve gone too far north or not far enough. In fact, I’m not sure where we are at all. Flit, can you buzz ahead and find the north lake? Go up over the trees and try to figure out where we are. If anyone comes along, I’ll hide,” Rolfe told the hummingbird as he tried to catch his breath.

Flit promptly saluted him and flew off.

Rolfe walked over to a small hillock with the little fawn and found a dry hollow log that had to have fallen ages ago. “Here’s a nice place for you to hide, little one. You should feel safe here,” he said soothingly. He placed her on her hooves and gently ushered her inside. Instinctually the fawn crawled in and curled up on the interior, keeping perfectly quiet. “Good girl.”

Rolfe took a seat on top of the hollow log to wait for Flit’s return. The sun was leaning toward the western horizon. It would be sundown soon and Rolfe could only hope that he found the north lake before it got too dark. He could not help but yawn in exhaustion and feel his belly rumbling. The Englishman placed a hand to his stomach and sighed, looking around. There were no berry bushes or easy victuals to be found in the area at all as far as he could see. The chase was really starting to take a toll on his body. Every muscle ached and he felt like there was a crushing weight on his shoulders. Despite that his clothes had dried out, he was trembling.

Though Rolfe was sitting upright, he felt so weary that he gradually fell into a light reverie as he sat there on the log. Small animals scuttled through the leaf litter on the ground, birds chirped in the canopy, the water in the stream trickled continuously, and the call of a raptor could be heard far above the trees. Yet the forest seemed peaceful to the point that Rolfe felt totally relaxed, even knowing that he was being hunted by a band of brutes. A breeze picked up and caressed him with its billowing pressure. Fall leaves scraped against each other on the ground and some even softly pelted him as the wind rushed by. _John Rolfe, wake up and run!_

Rolfe bolted up from the log and glanced around with his hands fisted, wide awake. “Who said that? Who goes there?” he demanded angrily before it occurred to him that he had fallen into a dream state. He breathed a sigh of relief, placing a hand over his pounding heart. _“Must just be my paranoia,”_ he muttered with a laugh. The Englishman settled back onto the log.

A moment later he heard the distinct sound of a footstep and a breaking twig not far off. Rolfe bolted up from his seat, scrambling down into the opening at the end of the hollow log. He gently pushed the fawn a little bit to make room for himself and held onto her in fear. _“Don’t make a sound…”_ he warned as she began to sniff the air, detecting some kind of scent.

…

Adahy jogged through the forest in front of Demon Dave who had driven him and Kelele relentlessly for hours to keep up with the fleeing ‘Spaniard.’ Adahy himself doubted that Rolfe was truly ‘Ignacio’ as the pirates claimed. It ultimately did not matter to him either way though. Rolfe was someone whom Adahy had to destroy no matter where he came from.

To carry out his plans, Adahy knew he had to escape somehow. His worst fear was that the pirates would get to Rolfe first and dispose of him, thus sending the demon blade into a fit of rage as it wanted Rolfe’s soul and pain for itself. For the past several hours Adahy had been more nervous than an unwilling bride on her wedding night. The demon had given him only an hour to get free from his bonds yet he had failed to think of a way out. Many more hours had passed yet the demon had all but gone dormant, not carrying out its threat.

Adahy’s worst fear was that the blade was biding its time, waiting for his anxiety to rise as high as possible before springing on him. Perhaps it was feeding off his fear. He had no way of knowing for sure as the demon had said nothing since Rolfe’s sudden appearance.

Adahy glanced at his dog Kelele who ran by his side. He looked up ahead. Though they had fallen behind the rest of the pirates, the band was still visible through the trees. Adahy had thought if they fell far behind enough that he could sic Kelele on Dave in order to escape. But that would not work just now as the crew was still in sight. His captor could easily call for backup if Adahy tried anything. That was why Adahy had tried to lag and complain of exhaustion but his pleas had not worked with Demon Dave. If Adahy slowed down too much, he always ended up with the point of a razor-sharp dagger pressing into the skin of his back.

 _I sense we will get our chance soon enough,_ the demon suddenly whispered, startling Adahy out of his fearful reverie. _Remain calm but alert and our time will come._

Adahy nodded his agreement, his acute anxiety all but evaporating. He knitted his brows together in determination and sped up his pace, appeasing Demon Dave. The pirate sheathed the blade that he had been using to spur Adahy onward with. “Atta boy, Injun. Getting your second wind, now are ye?” he annoyingly remarked. Adahy did not bother to respond.

…

Loud sniffing. The sound reminded Rolfe of a dog but he supposed it could be just about anything—including a buck or a bear. Likewise the approaching footsteps could belong to a human or a large animal for all he knew. The Englishman glanced down to the other end of the dark tunnel and noticed a small spotlight coming in from a little peephole. He carefully crawled over the frightened fawn and continued down the hollow on hands and knees, making his way to the peephole. He glanced out through the hole with his right eye and then his left.

Through some tall shrubbery, an imposing swarthy figure came into view which the Englishman recognized immediately. _Oh no!_ he thought. _The bosun…_ He glanced down and spotted the French hound from St. Augustine that the man had brought with him. _Oh no, no, no, no, no._

The dog started sniffing the ground. Rolfe watched as the bosun used his foot to move aside some of the leaf litter, perhaps looking for footprints. The Brit gritted his teeth in fear as the two started over toward the hollow log. The hound suddenly stopped dead in her tracks and looked directly at John Rolfe through the peephole. The eye contact, as disconcerting as it was, lasted only a fraction of a second as the Englishman withdrew into the darker part of the tunnel.

John Rolfe thought he heard a low chuckle, sending a spike of fear through his gut. There were a few moments of silence and then the bosun’s deep accented voice spoke. _“Fee fi fo fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman…”_ he crooned menacingly.

John Rolfe’s heart sped up, his blood pressure rose, and he started to sweat profusely. He quickly ducked below the peephole and crawled down to the far end of the log, away from the fawn. The Englishman peered out the opening at the end of the log for an escape route. He came up with a hasty plan to lead the dog and the bosun away from the log and then double back to retrieve the fawn. The last thing he wanted to see was the bosun sicking his dog on a helpless baby deer.

He knew he could not outrun the dog so another plan to came into mind when he noted an medium-sized willow tree that arched over the nearby stream. Gritting his teeth in determination, he quickly scrambled out from the log and made a break for the tree. Though he heard the dog howl behind him, he did not so much as look back as he jumped up the trunk of the tree. He caught a high branch, making to climb up as quickly as he could. But something stopped him. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw the hound’s jaws hanging from the heel of his boot.

“Get off!” Rolfe shouted, shaking his leg violently. His boot came loose and fell to the ground along with the dog. The Englishman tried to pull himself up again but then something much stronger gripped his sock-covered foot. “No!” Rolfe cried as he tried to hold onto the branch for dear life. The bosun yanked downward so hard that the branch broke off. The Englishman plummeted to the ground but was caught by the neck in mid-air. The bosun turned Rolfe to face him, a villainous smirk on his dark visage as the Brit began to cough from the airway blockage. Rolfe brought his fists up to grip the bosun’s wrist. He choked out, “Let me go, you creep!”

The dog tried to attack him again but the bosun called her off before laughing wickedly in John Rolfe’s face. “Your pearly-white arse is mine now, Ivory Man,” he triumphantly declared. The large man casually glanced up at the willow that Rolfe had attempted to climb. He pulled out his machete, severing a few long thin branches. Then he sheathed his machete and grabbed the cuttings, whistling for the dog as he turned on a heel and headed back the way he had come.

…

Flit buzzed through the woods for about twelve minutes before he ran into Siwili, Meeko, and Percy traveling in the opposite direction. “Flit!” Siwili cried. “Djahn! Heske meto no Djahn?!”

Flit was immediately happy to see his friends. He squeaked excitedly and turned back, beckoning them to follow him. As the others were traveling on foot, it took about twenty-five minutes to arrive at the scene where Flit had left Rolfe. There was no John Rolfe in sight when they got there and the hummingbird began to chirp frantically. Flit searched the log, finding only the young fawn inside. No Rolfe. That was when Flit darted over to Siwili and squeaked loudly, pointing his beak toward the spot where he had left Rolfe. The native seemed to understand what the bird was implying and looked very worried as he went to investigate the ground.

Siwili found oversized bootprints that led to a willow tree bending over the nearby stream. The first thing he noticed was the discarded boot lying on the ground which he immediately identified as Rolfe’s. Percy came over, sniffed it, and started yapping loudly. Siwili hushed the pug as he surveyed the area. He recognized the signs of a struggle from the prints on the ground to the scratches on the tree trunk and the severed limb that laid at the willow’s base. Large bootprints and cracked twigs on the ground lead away from the scene. Now on high alert, Siwili spurred himself into a run as he followed the attacker’s trail. The animals raced after him.

…

The exhausted crew was taking a short break in the forest when the bosun came to find them, dragging his quarry with him. Rolfe kicked and thrashed but the Affrikaan was built like a fortress, only grunting lightly in response to the Englishman’s blows. “Hey, Captain Flame! Look what I found,” the swarthy man reported, throwing Rolfe down on the ground roughly.

John Rolfe landed hard on his face and spat out some dirt as he glanced timidly up at Flame. The captain was a little surprised that the Englishman had actually been caught but very pleased. “Well, well, well…” Flame pronounced as a scheming smirk crept its way up the scarred half of his face. “Bosun, remind me never to underestimate you.”

Sinister chuckles escaped from the crew as Flame flipped out his sword and pointed the tip at the spot between Rolfe’s peepers, making the Brit go all cross-eyed. “Now, my dear Ignacio, you will tell me just where you’ve hidden my dear _Blood Draw_ ,” he spoke in a commanding voice.

Rolfe had been in immediate fear of his life and he felt only slightly relieved after hearing the captain’s command. He thought that perhaps he could trick the pirates into letting him live a little longer in order to lead them back to the ship, giving himself more time to think up an escape plan. “The _Blood Draw_ … Oh yes, the _Blood Draw_! Matter of fact, captain, I was just headed that way. Was rather hoping to get there first and sail off but then I had an unfortunate run-in with the bosun,” Rolfe lied, reaching up to wipe his sweaty brow with his shirtsleeve.

“Where’s the woman then?!” Flame demanded. “And our Frenchies. All back on the ship?”

Rolfe bobbed his head in affirmation. “Aye, sir. I figured the forest was too dangerous for the ladies so I came alone. I must warn you though, it’s quite a long way to the _Blood Draw_. You see, um…” he began, trying to come up with a logical reason for being on land. If the pirates knew he had really lost the ship, they would kill him in an instant. “…th-there was a storm and some things got washed overboard and… and…”

“You lost your pets, eh? We found prints on the beach with some washed up cargo. Let me guess, you came on land to retrieve them?” Flame interrogated further, offering Rolfe the ideal answer.

Rolfe’s eyes lit up. “Yes, of course! Haven’t found ‘em yet though I did find tracks heading north. Was rather hoping to intercept them and run off with the ship again but here I am. Seems you’ve won after all, you old dog. I’ve got no choice but to lead you to the ship now then, eh?”

Flame’s grin widened and he exchanged mischievous glances with some of his men. “Oh, laddie. There be plenty of time for that. It’s almost sundown, it is. You’ve had us on a wild goose chase all day and me men are plum exhausted. I think now it’s time for a little rest for the lot of us… not to mention a little _payback_ ,” he uttered menacingly. “Bosun! You got your cat?”

Rolfe swallowed a lump in his throat and glanced over his shoulder. The bosun leaned casually against a pine tree trunk, using a sharp blade to peel the bark and buds off the willow branches he had brought. “Nay, sir. I left it on the ship,” he replied, the ever-present smirk still gracing his features. “But I won’t be needing it.” He gripped one of the branches in his tight fist and sharply snapped the flexible rod against the pine, sending a terrifying crack echoing over the canopy.

Tremors overtook John Rolfe’s body as Flame lifted the Englishman’s chin with the end of his sword, forcing eye contact. “Now, now, my boy. Are we starting to realize what a dire situation we’ve gotten ourselves into at last?” Flame derided, pleased to no end.

A thought came to Rolfe’s mind and he cleared his throat. Perhaps he could talk his way out of the situation. “Sir,” Rolfe began with a nervous chuckle, “I understand that you’re a bit cross with me on account of my past actions but consider the potential consequences. If you leave me in a terribly wretched state, then however am I to lead you to your ship on the morrow? Perhaps this can wait until after we get back to the _Blood Draw_ , nay? Would that not be ideal, captain?”

“If you think you can talk your way outta this, Spaniard, you’re sadly mistaken,” Flame informed him. As Rolfe’s face fell, the captain sheathed his sword and knelt down to the captive’s level. He gripped the collar of Rolfe’s shirt and yanked him forward until their noses were less than an inch apart. “Besides, all’s we need is you to point us in the right direction. If you can’t walk, I’m sure the bosun would be glad to carry you o’er his shoulder.” Flame rose to his feet and pulled the Englishman up along with him, throwing him at the crew. “Ain’t that right, men?”

The pirates began to shove John Rolfe back and forth between them like a rag doll, laughing all the while. “Hey, stop it! Leave me alone!” Rolfe protested to no avail.

“He’s all yours, bosun,” Flame commanded. When Rolfe was shoved toward Spike-Eyes, the wicked first mate socked him right in the left eye and sent him plunging to the ground. Again Rolfe landed on his face with a pained grunt, placing a hand over his throbbing eye. “Nay, Spike-Eyes! The bosun’s got dibs on the likes of that! Wait your turn!” the captain insisted.

“Aye. Sorry, sir,” Spike-Eyes replied in a disappointed tone.

The bosun stepped right in front of Rolfe, towering above him dangerously. When the Brit glanced up, he noticed the bosun had tied several willow branches together at the ends with twine and was braiding them to make a much thicker and more threatening implement. Rolfe’s eyes turned glassy as a deep sense of dread arose in the pit of his stomach. The bosun, not looking away from his work, pointed a thumb to the pine tree behind him. “Tie him up so he’s facing the trunk and his feet aren’t touching the ground,” he ordered of the crew.

“No! Let me go! Leave me alone!” Rolfe cried as Spike-Eyes, Bloodlet Bernard, and Silent Simon all seized him up from the forest floor. The Brit resisted with all his might but despite his best efforts, he was pinned up against the trunk of the tree as his hands were bound with rope. Rolfe shot a glare back at Flame. “If you hurt me, I will _never_ tell you where your ship is!”

Flame briefly chuckled. “You will if you value your life and limbs, lad. Carry on, men.”

“And if you kill me, you’ll never find it!” Rolfe snapped back, feeling himself suddenly suspended in the air with his arms wrapped partly around the tree trunk. The bark scraped his belly raw as he kicked his legs zealously, his face turning red from the effort.

Flame growled. “Bosun, I do hope you rid Ignacio of this defiance forthwith.”

The bosun nodded in confirmation as he finished his work. He held the willow switch up and admired it. “I think this here ought to do the trick. Wouldn’t you say, captain?”

“Aye,” Flame replied. “But test it on the tree. If it breaks you might have to find sturdier rods.”

 _God, please grant me the strength to endure,_ Rolfe thought desperately, allowing his body to fall limp as he shut his eyes in prayer. _I need You now more than ever._ The willow whip exploded against the trunk right next to him as the bosun tested the implement on the tree, sending shards of bark flying in all directions. Rolfe shrieked in alarm and began to thrash against his bindings once more. “Bloody hell! You lunatics are going to break my back with that damn thing!”

“It does fall a bit heavy,” Flame conceded. “Try taking one of the branches out.” The bosun cut out one of the braided willow branches and tested it again, leaving Rolfe no less terrified yet appeasing the captain. “That oughta do it. Now go for maximum pain, mate, but without making the fop pass out too quickly. I’d be surprised if he’s ever taken a beating before in his life.”

The bosun called Spike-Eyes over and gave him the willow whip to hold momentarily. He turned to John Rolfe and ripped the Englishman’s shirt right off his back, leaving Rolfe trembling in the evening chill. The bosun then took back the willow whip. “Bastard!” Rolfe spat. “That was the only shirt I’ve got! Don’t touch me, you monsters!” The men only cackled wickedly. “We’ll see who gets the last laugh when you’re the ones burning in hell for all eternity!” Rolfe howled.

“Quiet, Ivory Man!” the bosun snapped. “Your God is a lie—a fact you will soon be keenly aware of when nobody comes to your aid!” He positioned himself behind the bound captive, stretching the arm with the whip back as far as it would go. “Now let me hear you beg.”


	16. A Narrow Escape

****_They’ve caught him. What do we do?_ Adahy asked, at a loss. _We’ve got to free ourselves and him now so we can capture him for our own purposes. This is getting more and more complicated._

 _These are not things you should worry about right now. I give you permission to enjoy the show. An opportunity is coming,_ the blade replied. _Very soon. Be alert._

Adahy blinked in surprise. He was seated further away than most from the scene, perched on a medium-sized stump in the midst of the trees. Another one of the pirates, Muttonchops, was keeping an eye on him as Demon Dave assisted with the ‘setup.’ The cur stood behind him, holding onto the rope that kept him bound. “Want a better view, Injun?” Muttonchops offered.

 _No, stay put,_ the demon instructed.

Adahy glanced up at Muttonchops. “No, I can see just fine from here.”

The pirate looked a little surprised. “You don’t seem too enthused about this. Isn’t this the paleface that severed your hands?” Muttonchops inquired.

“Have you ever seen me outwardly ‘enthused’?” Adahy countered.

Muttonchops raised a brow. “Valid point. You Injuns are so damn stoic.”

Adahy returned his gaze to John Rolfe’s soon-to-be-not-so-flawless white back as the bosun swung the whip back, preparing for the very first skin-splitting blow. The Englishman had been thrashing violently against his bindings and shouting to be freed but the bosun warned him to quiet down. “Now let me hear you beg,” mocked the Affrikaan.

At first Adahy wondered if it was his imagination. He heard the subtlest of swoosh sounds before the switch came down with a much louder swish. Rolfe had been struggling with all his might.

**CRACK!**

The willow whip struck the pine tree where John Rolfe had been not even a fraction of a second before, sending bark debris flying into the bosun’s face. He sputtered and raged, “What the hell…?!” Adahy had to jump to his feet to discover what had happened. When he glanced down, he found Rolfe crumpled on the ground at the bosun’s feet. A tomahawk embedded in the side of the pine tree indicated just where the bindings had been severed.

The bosun was so furious about missing his target that his swarthy face turned a dark shade of red. He spotted John Rolfe on the ground trying to crawl away and drew back the whip again, targeting the fallen Brit before he could escape. But a sleek arrow put an end to the bosun’s attempt at an assault. It embedded itself in the spot between the Affrikaan’s chest and shoulder, causing the dark-skinned pirate to instantly release his grip on the cruel implement. The bosun’s howl of pain could not even be heard over the thunderous war cry that emanated from the obscuring foliage surrounding the area. **“HE-LE-LE-LE-LE-LE-LE-LE-LE-LAAUUU!”**

“Savages! It’s an ambush!” Flame decried. “Find cover and return fire!”

Half of the crew panicked and started shooting into the brush right away without running for cover first. Two men, Patch Fiddick and Demon Dave, ended up with an arrow straight through the gullet. The latter collapsed immediately whereas the former stumbled around holding the projectile as he tried desperately to breathe through the blockage.

 _Natives are attacking! This is our chance!_ the blade declared. Adahy did not need to be told twice. He sicked Kelele on Muttonchops, forcing the pirate to drop the leash to defend himself.

“Double-cross! Treachery!” screamed Muttonchops as the dog tore at his bicep.

Adahy ran to find some cover behind a line of trees and kicked off his right boot, using his toes to reach into the side of his left. He pulled out the demon blade and flicked it at a tree. The sharp tip embedded itself into the trunk about four feet above the ground. Adahy ran to it as the blade began to glow and turned around, allowing the sheer heat of the blade to sever the ropes binding his arms together behind his back. Then he yanked the blade out of the wood by the hilt.

Adahy returned to the scene just as Muttonchops had managed to pull out a dagger. The Copichican used the demon blade to slit the man’s throat just before Muttonchops could impale Kelele on the sharp end of his weapon. “Good boy,” Adahy uttered, whistling for the panting hound to follow him. Kelele’s mouth was dripping with fresh blood. The whole setting was a spectacle of chaos as the pirates scrambled to reload and fire their weapons.

The native attackers remained hidden in the obscuring foliage, enraging Spike-Eyes to no end. “Come out and show yourself, savages! Cowardly barbarians!” Most of the pirates were shooting blindly into the brush, essentially wasting their bullets as they could not spot their target.

“Don’t let Ignacio escape!” Flame commanded, pointing to the Englishman trying to untie the ropes around his wrists. Rolfe looked back when he heard Flame’s voice, his eyes full of fear.

The bosun broke off the head of the impaling arrow which had entered through his back. He turned around so the tail end faced Flame. “Captain, pull this out for me quick! I will get him!” Flame yanked it hard, evoking a howl of pain from the Affrikaan. “Thank you, sir,” the bosun added once it was over. His eyes darted around to find the Englishman amidst the chaos.

Rolfe had crawled for cover behind the pine tree he had been bound to, using the thick trunk as a shield against a barrage of bullets while he struggled to remove the ropes attached to his wrists. When the bosun reappeared, Rolfe had to momentarily postpone this endeavor. The Brit rolled out of the way just as the hulking man lunged at him. Rolfe used a low branch to pull himself to his feet just as the bosun rounded on him again. “Ivory Man!” the man raged, charging at him.

John Rolfe swung back his arm with the longest portion of rope attached and used it as a whip, nailing the bosun right in the face. The blow split the bosun’s lip and chin in a diagonal slice, evoking a howl of combined pain and fury. “See how you like it, you big bully!” Rolfe shouted back at him, striking at the bosun repeatedly to ward him off. “Get away from me!”

On the fifth snap of the rope the bosun actually managed to catch the end in one hand. “Ha!” he cried triumphantly, yanking the rope with all his might. Rolfe was jerked forward so suddenly that he tripped over the protruding root of a nearby tree and fell flat on his face. He had only just managed to roll onto his back before the bosun was on him. “I’ve got you now, Ivory Man!”

The bosun reeled back his massive fist to knock the Englishman out cold. Suddenly another annoying pest started buzzing around the bosun’s face. “Flit!” Rolfe cried in relief. The bosun began to swat at the hummingbird, distracted from his assault on John Rolfe. It gave the Brit an opportunity to curl in his legs and aim his feet at the bosun’s abdomen. John Rolfe kicked with all his might, sending the brute stumbling backwards and falling on his backside, but not before Rolfe was able to grab a hold of the machete at the man’s waist. Rolfe used the blade to free his wrists of their bindings and then pointed the blade at the bosun. “Back it up!”

Just then a heavily camouflaged brave pulled John Rolfe behind him and pointed an arrow at the bosun threateningly. “Hokunéma! Sivileka to ra do mité Djahn!” Siwili shouted angrily.

Rolfe shot the bosun a smug look over his friend’s shoulder. “What was that you were saying about nobody coming to my aid?” he retorted, leaving the bosun speechless at first.

All of a sudden a screaming Spike-Eyes ran between Siwili and the bosun with a growling pug attached to his rear end and a rascally raccoon on his head trying to scratch his eyes out. “Get them off! Get them off! For the love of God, get them off!” he cried, trying to use the butt of his musket to pry the dog’s teeth from his flesh. The tiny canine maintained a vice-like grip. Spike-Eyes knelt down and pulled a dagger out of his boot, intending to stab the animals.

“Percy! Meeko!” Rolfe exclaimed in worry just as Siwili shot Spike-Eyes right in the foot with an arrow, thus pinning said foot to the littered forest floor. The cur shrieked at the top of his lungs as Rolfe reeled back his arm and threw the machete with great force, impaling the first mate right in the middle of his back. Siwili’s eyes widened in surprise as the pirate dropped dead to the ground. He glanced back at the Englishman, impressed. Rolfe pointed past Siwili. “Look out!” Rolfe cried just as the bosun lunged at the warrior with a dagger.

The bosun was too close for Siwili to nock an arrow in time but that by no means stopped the warrior. Hand-to-hand combat was one of his fortes. Siwili dropped his bow to the ground just as the bosun reached him, catching the dagger-wielding hand in mid-air. Without missing a beat, the brave sent a knee full-force into the Affrikaan’s solar plexus. The bosun doubled over and Siwili grabbed his head, kneeing him in the face and breaking his nose. The bosun shrieked in pain as the brave twisted the man’s arm behind his back and yanked hard, flipping the brute in the air. He landed flat on his back just as Rolfe tossed the bow back to Siwili. The victorious warrior caught it deftly in one hand and quickly nocked another arrow.

Not far from the scene, Adahy and the demon blade had ambushed Bloodlet Bernard behind a tree. He had sicked his dog Kelele on Silent Simon, Bloodlet’s partner in battle, to distract him. Adahy severed the hands of the pirate before he started torturing him, sending blood-curdling shrieks echoing over the canopy. The blade hungrily consumed Bloodlet’s agony, growing more powerful all the while. Flame had been taking cover behind a large oak with one henchman, Sick Phillip, to aid him in reloading his weapons. The sound of tortured screams attracted the captain’s attention. He crept through the brush to find Adahy tormenting Bloodlet as his dog Kelele mauled Silent Simon nearby. “Treachery! Men, Adahy be in league with the local savages!” he loudly announced, aiming a loaded musket right at the Copichican.

Adahy slit Bloodlet’s throat and rolled behind a tree for cover, narrowly avoiding the bullet that grazed the bark. Sick Phillip handed the captain a freshly loaded musket and Flame aimed it at Kelele just as Adahy called him off of Silent Simon. The Copichican pulled his pup behind the tree right in the nick of time to avoid the bullet. Meanwhile a bleeding Silent Simon crawled along the pine needle-laden ground over to the captain. Flame hurriedly yanked him through the brush and to safety, handing him a loaded musket. “Kill the savage traitor if you can. I need to go check on the other men. Sick, you stay here and help him!” he commanded before departing.

Flame found the bosun near the pine tree from earlier, struggling to stop the bleeding from a fresh wound. When Finley Flame looked up ahead, he spotted John Rolfe relieving a dead Spike-Eyes of his weaponry. “Spike-Eyes!” Flame howled, furious about the death of his loyal minion. He aimed his musket at Rolfe just as Flit began to buzz around the captain’s head, throwing off his aim. “What the hell…? Begone, you bloody pest!” he snapped, trying to slap the bird out of the air. Flame howled when Percy bit him on the leg from behind.

Siwili was nearby retrieving some of his arrows when he spotted Flame, curling a lip in disgust at the Irishman’s revolting appearance. The warrior returned to find John Rolfe. The Brit’s otherwise bare chest and shoulders were draped with bizarre items which the brave could only assume were associated with the large musket he had strapped to his back. Siwili took Rolfe by the hand and whistled for the animals, turning to flee. Rolfe jumped in surprise when another pirate, Ironclad, appeared behind them aiming his musket right at Siwili’s chest.

In a panic, Rolfe pushed Siwili away from him with all his might. The trunk of a tree behind them exploded as the bullet just narrowly missed its target. The warrior stumbled but remained standing, turning a flaring gaze on the cur. Ironclad teetered on his feet, a rivulet of blood running down between his eyes. The bullet had ricocheted and nailed him right in the forehead, piercing his skull. He collapsed with a thump as Siwili grabbed Rolfe and made a break for it, keeping amongst the trees and hillocks to avoid bullets. Meeko and Percy pursued their human companions. Meanwhile Flit distracted Flame long enough for his friends to make a getaway.

Siwili, Rolfe, Meeko, Percy, and Flit raced through the area where Rolfe had first been captured by the bosun. Rolfe made it there on a fast limp. His shoeless foot was painful to walk on with the occasional stone or pebble jabbing him in the sole. Siwili recovered Rolfe’s boot for him and helped him hurriedly put it on. The warrior tried to drag Rolfe onward but the Brit resisted.

“Wait! I need to get something,” John Rolfe insisted. He ran over to the hollow log where the fawn was still tucked inside. The moment she saw him, she hopped up and crawled out to greet him. “There you are, little one,” the Englishman cooed, scooping her up. Siwili had a hurriedly inquisitive look on his face when he spotted the baby deer.

Rolfe had learned that the Gunalo word for mother was ‘mabua’ after hearing Aquela use the term repeatedly with Awenasa. “Pozito mabua,” John Rolfe spoke, running a finger across his own gullet in a cutthroat gesture. He pointed a thumb back to where they had left the pirate crew. Siwili seemed to raise both brows in surprise but he nodded his understanding. They were soon off again, heading eastward to the north lake where they would meet Pocahontas.

…

Pocahontas was skipping stones by the lake at sunset when she heard the far-off battle. She immediately rose to her feet and looked in the direction the gunshots were coming from, gritting her teeth in worry. _Please, spirits, let them both be alright. Please, please, please…_

It disconcerted her even more that she was all alone and had nobody to share her worries with, somewhat regretting her decision to send both Meeko and Percy along with Siwili. Was Flit alright? Was John Rolfe alright? Perhaps the men of the village had gotten together and gone on the offensive against the pirates. Pocahontas could only hope against hope that there would be no casualties on their side but given the number of gunshots she was hearing, she had her doubts.

Pocahontas started to pace by the water’s edge, listening to the skirmish until it finally ceased. Silence reigned once more with the exception of chirping birds, bugs, and dripping water. The air was calm, the wind nonexistent. Pocahontas sighed and plopped down on the boulder that the travel packs were leaned against. She daydreamed, losing track of time until nightfall when the sounds of crickets came alive in the grasses. An owl hooted in the distance.

Pocahontas heard a soft crunch of leaves in some nearby shrubbery and she jumped up, taking her machete in hand. Her heart beat faster than usual as she pointed the blade at the bushes. Could it be a pirate come to capture her or just a peaceful forest animal? No more noises ensued and she finally calmed down, putting the weapon down beside her on the large rock. She allowed herself to rest against the boulder once more as she waited for her companions to return.

…

Six men were dead, the captives had escaped, and Finley Flame was out of his mind with fury. “What the hell happened?!” he raged at the demoralized survivors. Only twelve members of the crew remained aside from the captain himself and four were wounded, including the bosun.

“Adahy betrayed us during the battle,” Cole Hughes defended. “We were attacked on all sides! By Adahy and his mutt, the savages, Ignacio, and Ignacio’s pets all at the same time. Plus there was even them giant insects come to pester me while I was trying to load me musket!”

Other members of the crew began to chime in on the topic.

“How many savages were there?” asked Sick Phillip as he tended to Jim Stain’s wound. The latter had gotten an arrow stuck in his rear end and he howled at Sick tried to pull it out.

Yoba Saul had gotten an arrow stuck in his thigh. He had removed it himself and dressed his own wound before scooting over to help Silent Simon dress the many wounds he had received from Adahy’s vicious dog. Silent Simon had a few tears and gashes on his legs and one large bite wound on his shoulder. In addition, some of the facial skin over his chin and right cheek had been torn back and the crew had no means to apply stitches without the supplies on the ship. Simon moaned in pain, terrified that his wounds would fester in the absence of alcohol which the crew had long since run out of. They needed to get back to the ship.

Blank Samuel inquired, “Who was supposed to be watching Adahy?”

“Doesn’t matter, he’s dead,” replied Mick Sane. “His throat was cut.”

“We never should’ve trusted Adahy!” decried Guy Rush. “I bet he was in league with the local savages! I bet that’s why they attacked us, to free the bastard!”

“We _didn’t_ trust him!” Flame argued, a bit enraged at the suggestion. “If we’d trusted him, we wouldn’t have tied him up. But I’m guessin’ you’re right about the savages. That must be how he escaped. Did anyone see what happened when the Injuns first attacked?”

Sick Phillip seethed, “I never even saw an Injun, the cowards! Real men fight in the open!”

“Did anyone actually see a savage?” inquired Bandit Lee. “I heard them but I never saw one with me own eyes. The forest-bred bastards are like chameleons!”

Flame shook his head, plopping down against a tree. “I didn’t but I did see Ignacio rob Spike-Eyes’s corpse of weaponry. The bastard is armed now so we’ve got to be even more careful.”

“When we first caught Adahy, he said he’d been tracking the fugitives,” Mick Sane recalled. “If he’s still after the Spaniard, it’s possible for us to catch the whole lot of ‘em if we keep following their tracks! But we’ve got to hurry. If Ignacio makes it back to the ship first…”

Flame’s eyes widened. “And it seems he found his pets during the skirmish. The damn dog bit me before I could wound Ignacio. He must be headed straight for the ship now.”

“He did say it was a long way,” Cole Hughes chimed. “Maybe if we hurry, we can catch up.”

Bandit Lee glanced around. “Where’s that Françoise? We need her to track.” He started to whistle for the animal. Half a minute later Françoise appeared out of a thicket, having hidden during the battle. “Well she may be a bit of a coward but at least she’s got a good nose on her.”

“I for one could not be more grateful that she’s a coward,” Flame countered, waving the hound over. He gave her a pat. “If she’d gotten herself killed, we’d have no tracking hound.”

Sick Phillip chuckled. “A valid point if there ever was one, cap’n.”

“Who wants to be her main caretaker now that Spike-Eyes be dead?” Flame asked of the crew.

Sick Phillip held up his hands in protest as the captain looked straight at him. “I’m not so good with the likes of beasts, sir,” he proclaimed. “How about Lee?”

“I’ll do it.”

Every head in the crew turned to the bosun who had just appeared from the forest after dressing his own wounds in private. “You want to take care of Françoise, bosun?” Flame asked.

The bosun nodded. “Though we have the occasional disagreement, all in all we seem to get along just fine,” he said, whistling for the French hound. She plodded over and sat in front of him, looking up in expectation of a command. He turned his attention to the crew. “I need to set some things straight,” he began, eyeing everyone. “It seems there is some misinformation going around. Men, raise your hand if you actually saw a native with your own two eyes.”

Nobody raised a hand save the bosun. The crew gasped. “You saw one?” Flame interrogated, sitting forward in anticipation of more information.

“Aye,” replied the bosun, “and I’ve good reason to believe they _aren’t_ in league with Adahy.”

Several members of the crew exchanged glances. “Go on…” Flame encouraged.

“The natives are in league with John Ro…” the bosun coughed, correcting himself, “I mean Ignacio.” He did not actually believe Rolfe to be a Spaniard but he did not care to argue with the captain on the matter. The bosun pointed past the pine tree to which he had ordered the Englishman tied not long ago. “I saw a camouflaged warrior over there. He jumped in front of Ignacio to protect the white bastard from me. He even said Ignacio’s English name ‘John.’ At least that is what I think I heard. Adahy and Ignacio are enemies, that much we know for certain. This is why I have reason to believe Adahy acted on his own.”

A dozen stunned faces stared up at the bosun as he finished his explanation. “But why would he kill more men and run off?” Sick Phillip protested after a momentary silence, jumping to his feet. “Cap’n swore he’d release Adahy after Ignacio was caught, he did!”

“I suppose he don’t trust the captain,” Buckle Bree finally chimed. “He must’ve been a loyalist of Bleud’s. Devil knows the old chap was half-savage after all. The two of ‘em did seem to have somewhat of an unspoken bond at times if me intuition ain’t mistaken.”

“Either that or he’s just a traitor. Once a traitor, always a traitor s’far as I’m concerned,” Flame offered, grinding his teeth in agitation. “When I get me hands on that no-good…”

“Captain,” the bosun interrupted, “what’s the plan going forward?”

Flame jumped to his feet and flipped out his sword. “I’m glad you asked, bosun. We’ve been dawdling long enough. Yoba!” he proclaimed, gaining the aforementioned pirate’s attention as he pointed the tip of his blade straight at him. “You seem well enough to tend to the other injured parties. The able-bodied portion of the crew will go after Ignacio and Adahy straightaway. You three,” he added, pointing to Yoba Saul, Jim Stain, and Silent Simon. “You catch up with us when you can. We’ll need you to sail the ship so you need not worry of us leaving you behind. The men’ll be sure to leave an obvious trail for you to follow. Meanwhile the rest of us will catch the bastard Ignacio and teach him a lesson he’ll never forget as long as he lives… which won’t be long as I see it. Once we’ve got our revenge and our ship back, it’s off to Tortuga to replace the lost portion of the crew. Then onward to rob the Spanish!”

The remaining crew cheered loudly. “Aye, cap’n!”

Flame turned to the Affrikaan. “Bosun, you’re injured too. Will you be comin’ with us straightaway or catching up later with the others?”

“Nothing could stop me from wreaking my vengeance sooner rather than later,” the bosun said darkly, tightening his hand into a fist in a show of barely-suppressed rage.

…

Past nightfall Adahy and Kelele ran silently in pursuit of Rolfe and his companions. The only thing that kept the Copichican from attacking immediately was the unfamiliar warrior accompanying the Brit. Who was he and how did they know each other? Adahy wondered. Ambushing Rolfe would be far easier if the Englishman were all by himself.

On the other hand, they were not yet far away enough from the pirate crew. He was sure a furious Flame would be in rapid pursuit of them all. If only Adahy had thought to snatch their French hound away when he had the chance but he had not been able to find her during the battle. Without a guiding dog, tracking the escapees would be far more difficult for the band.

Adahy pushed himself harder when he sensed the runaways had picked up the pace ahead of him. As exhausted as he was he had to keep up no matter what. He held the demon blade in his one hand, holding on tightly in case the warrior detected his presence and decided to turn back and attack. _What should we do about the brave?_ Adahy inquired of the demon.

 _You should have stolen a gun from the crew when you had the chance,_ the demon chided.

Adahy blinked in surprise. _But they were constantly shooting at me. I had to make a break for it!_

 _The soul you’re tracking is now heavily armed and you only have me. You must keep after him and wait for him and his companions to eventually stop and fall asleep. Then you can slit the brave’s throat and the others will be yours,_ the blade explained wrathfully.

Adahy could not believe what he was hearing. _Killing a brave in his sleep? Is that not an act of cowardice?_ he protested, cringing at the proposal.

_He is too dangerous. I sense his soul is pure as well but a one-handed twit like you will not be able to fight an able-bodied warrior. We cannot harvest his pain. We must get him out of the way._

_But…_

_No buts!_ commanded the blade. _You will do as I say._

Adahy gritted his teeth as the demon turned dormant again. Despite how long they had been together, he was starting to dislike his hellish companion more and more as of late. But the fact of the matter was that Adahy was helpless without his demon and the wicked spirit knew it. He needed to get the demon what it wanted so it would regenerate his other missing hand, the one the woman had severed. Then he would get his revenge on her and his soul would be saved.

Adahy dashed through some tall brush but he failed to notice a looping root that was hidden in the grasses just below. It caught his foot and made him fall forward, hitting his head on a log. He was knocked out in an instant and the blade tumbled out of his grasp.

When he finally came to, Kelele was whining and frantically licking his face. The nearby blade was screaming at him as a gunshot sounded not far off. _The men are coming, you clumsy fool! Get up!_ Adahy scrambled up from the ground and found the blade which attracted his attention with its glow. He whistled for his dog and darted off before the crew appeared. He had lost sight of John Rolfe and the others but at least he knew which direction they were traveling in.

…

It was past nightfall by the time Rolfe, Siwili, Meeko, Percy, Flit, and the fawn made it back to Pocahontas. The moment she saw them, she jumped to her feet and ran right past Siwili to her paramour. “John!” she cried, embracing him as she planted kisses all over his face. “Oh, thank goodness! I heard gunshots, I thought the worst… Are you okay? I…” She drew back from him and took in his appearance. “What happened to your shirt? And why are you carrying a fawn?”

Rolfe’s face flushed in embarrassment. He opened his mouth to reply just as a ruffling behind the party turned their attentions to some tall shrubbery. Nicole Lorrise St. Germaine, of all people, stepped out into plain view. “John Rolfe! I know you are leaving! I saw Pocahontas packing with another Indian woman. Are you heading to Jamestown? Please, don’t leave me here! I want to go back to France!” Nicole pleaded, running up to him. She stopped short and blushed. “Um… wh-why are you half-naked?” she uttered, completely abashed at the sight of him.

Everyone’s mouths hung open at Nicole’s very unexpected arrival. Siwili got over his shock first when he noticed that John Rolfe was shivering from the nighttime chill. He turned his attention to the travel packs, shuffling through the supplies for clothing. “Nicole! What in the…? I told you to stay away from Pocahontas!” Rolfe warned, stepping in front of the aforementioned woman. “Have you been hiding there spying on her this whole time? How dare you…!”

“I-I was waiting for you to appear,” Nicole defended.

Just then Siwili interrupted when he came over to John Rolfe and took the fawn out of his arms, handing the little animal to Pocahontas. He started relieving Rolfe of his weaponry and Rolfe went along with it, dropping the musket and other items to the ground. “What is it?” he asked as Siwili began to pull a long-sleeved buckskin shirt over his head. Rolfe raised his arms and pushed them through the armholes in compliance. “Oh! Thank you, Siwili. That’s much better.”

Rolfe hugged himself, warming up. Siwili hurriedly helped the Brit put his weaponry back on with the exception of the musket which he tied to Rolfe’s pack. Then Siwili lifted the pack onto the Englishman’s back and helped him get his arms through the straps. The warrior secured the waist strap around Rolfe’s hips, transferring all weight to that area. “Osoto seput, Djahn.”

“You did a good job of communicating our needs to them, Pocahontas,” Rolfe lauded, momentarily forgetting about Nicole as Siwili began to help Pocahontas get her pack on.

Nicole ran up to John Rolfe and grabbed the fringed collar of his buckskin top to get his attention. “Please don’t leave me here! I don’t want to be an Indian! I’m sorry for everything I did! Forgive me!” she cried, burying her weeping face in his shirt. “I promise I won’t touch Pocahontas. I won’t even look at her if you don’t want me to!” she pleaded in desperation.

Rolfe pried Nicole’s hand off of his clothing and gently pushed her back. “Mademoiselle… Naturally, being a Christian, I cannot deny you forgiveness if you genuinely request it. But that does not mean I will take you along on this journey. It is going to be very dangerous. The pirates are pursuing us, you see. In fact, they could be here any minute! You’re in no condition to travel and you know it. You’re too scrawny and not strong enough. Furthermore we’ve only a finite supply of food and we don’t know how long it will take us to reach Jamestown. My personal priority is to keep Pocahontas safe and well-fed along the way so we will not be sharing our supply with you. You don’t even have your own load to bear and that’s not fair to the rest of us,” he explained as she began to tear up again, clasping her hands together pleadingly.

“What does she want, John?” Pocahontas asked, peeking out over John Rolfe’s shoulder.

Rolfe glanced back at her. “Hold on a minute, I’ll explain,” he murmured to Pocahontas. He turned his attention back to Nicole and addressed her again in French, “Mademoiselle, do you really want to risk the pirates capturing you again? We’ve got to go now and I’m guessing we’re going to travel all night. You would be much safer, warmer, and well-fed back in the village. What’s the worst that could happen? You marrying a warrior?” he laughed.

Nicole pouted, indignant at his amusement. “No, no!” she protested fervently. “I could never marry a warrior! How could you even suggest such a…”

“Mademoiselle,” Rolfe interrupted, glancing back at the others. Siwili and Pocahontas were both geared up and ready to go. “I’ve no more time to argue with you. If you know what’s best for you, you’ll turn right around and head back the way you came. I do not consent to be your guardian this time. If you come with us you will starve, freeze, or fall behind and end up in the hands of those who destroyed your home. This is your last chance, go back now.”

Nicole shook her head stubbornly. “I know you’re bluffing! You won’t let those things happen to me! You’re too good a man to do that!” she countered, convinced of her position.

Rolfe narrowed his eyes and tilted his head at the challenge. “Am I? I fear you’re going to find I can be a much harder man than you ever thought possible then.” He waved Nicole off and turned his attention back to his companions, pointing north. “Let’s go. I’m done arguing with this foolish child,” he said dismissively in English, suddenly feeling his stomach growl. He glanced down and placed a hand on his belly. Siwili looked confusedly at Nicole but then shrugged and walked over to John Rolfe, handing the Englishman a small sack. The Brit glanced inside to find a high-energy trail mix composed of nuts, dried berries, and other dried fruits. “Oh, thank God! I’m starved!” Rolfe announced, guzzling a whole handful of the sweet offering.

Siwili lead the way as they departed. Rolfe, Pocahontas with the fawn in arms, Meeko, Percy, and Flit followed the brave northward. Nicole followed behind them, keeping some distance from the unwelcoming group. Pocahontas did not fail to notice. “John, why is she following us? She’s not strong enough to go on this journey,” she remarked, noting the girl’s frail appearance.

“I know,” Rolfe replied with a yawn, munching on the trail mix. “But she refuses to listen. She’s on her own as far as I’m concerned and I told her as much.”

Pocahontas frowned and brought a hand to Rolfe’s forehead, brushing his hair out of the way. “You must be exhausted, John. You’ve been running from those pirates all day.”

Rolfe sighed and gave her a weak smile, taking her hand and kissing it. “I’ll be alright.”

…

It was late when Adahy came upon a large lake rife with croaking frogs and chirping crickets. The ground was littered with golden-brown autumn leaves and Adahy had only the moonlight to guide him. Through fatigue and mental confusion, he had lost track of those whom he was pursuing. He could not place which direction they had gone in at the moment. Furthermore his dog Kelele was on the verge of collapse. “We have to keep going, boy. We don’t want Flame’s crew to catch up to us,” Adahy urged. “I’m exhausted too. Now sniff,” he commanded.

Kelele started to stiff the ground. He lead Adahy over to a large boulder near the water’s edge. Boot marks were imprinted in the mud. _So they were here,_ hissed the blade. _The question is where did they go from here? The forest floor is so littered, we will have to rely on the mutt._

Adahy nodded as he watched Kelele scan the area with his nose. The French hound sniffed the mud, the boulder, and all areas around it repeatedly. Finally he pointed his nose north and barked. _It seems they went north,_ Adahy uttered, brushing aside the leaf litter surrounding the boulder. He found numerous prints highlighted by the bright full moon. _There were at least three people… no, four. They were accompanied by two small animals, the dog and the raccoon. That is all I can gather. I saw the brave and the white man. Who could the others be?_

 _Perhaps one of them is the woman that humiliated you,_ the demon suggested.

Adahy raised a brow and glanced at his wrist-stump. It had been the woman once known as ‘Tomtom’ who had deprived him of that hand. _But the paleface said all the women were back on the ship,_ Adahy protested. _Two of the prints are narrow enough to be female though._

 _He could have lied to protect them,_ the blade pointed out. _Despite his cowardly comportment before the crew, you and I know that his soul is pure. He would not give up the innocent women to save his own life. He was faking his cowardice. Perhaps he hoped to buy himself time._

 _Well Kelele seems to think the party headed north,_ Adahy said. Suddenly the sound of a distant gunshot came from said direction. _That can’t be the crew. They’re tracking us from the west._

_The pale one must be trying to lead them somewhere… but I know not why._

_Perhaps he’s trying to lead them into an ambush?_ Adahy proposed. _There was one warrior. There must be more north of here. We’ve got to steer clear of them somehow._

 _I advise you to proceed with caution then,_ the demon said. Adahy nodded in agreement and headed north with his dog, hot on the escapees’ trail. In the back of his mind, he wondered if Rolfe was really headed to the ship at all. The coast was east but John Rolfe and the others were headed north. For what reason could they possibly be going north?

…

Siwili watched in fascination as John Rolfe prepared and fired off his musket high into the sky. “That ought to attract them our way… and keep them away from the village,” Rolfe said to Pocahontas for good measure, putting the gun away once more.

“Why did you do that?!” Nicole cried in French, catching up to the others. “You said the pirates are following us… they’ll know just where to look now! You gave away our location!”

Rolfe rolled his eyes at Nicole. “That’s the point,” he retorted in French, shaking his head in annoyance. He offered Nicole no further information and turned to Pocahontas and Siwili. “Come along, let’s keep going. I may be exhausted but the food Siwili gave me has somewhat revived me,” he said in English, spurring himself back into a jog. The others followed suit.

“What do you mean ‘that’s the point’? Why would you want them to follow us? John, John! Stop ignoring me!” Nicole protested, running up alongside him. Rolfe did not even look at her.

Pocahontas ignored Nicole as well. “So John, are you going to tell me what happened to that white shirt I went to so much trouble to sew up for you?” she asked teasingly.

Again Rolfe flushed. “It… sort of got destroyed. Sorry, love. But there was a battle if you didn’t hear. The pirates caught me and Siwili came and rescued me,” he admitted with a pause, abashed at the event of his capture. “I admit I may have gravely underestimated our friend’s fighting abilities. It was just us against over a dozen armed curs and yet somehow we came out victorious, plus I managed to rob them along the way,” he laughed, gesturing to the gun.

Pocahontas giggled as well. “It is very reassuring to know that we have a reliable bodyguard with us then,” she remarked. “And wait… did you just say you got caught? Hey! Wait, stop!” she said, slowing the whole group to a standstill. She forced Rolfe to turn towards her and noticed a darkened area around his left eye. “John, you’ve got a black eye! Did they do this?”

Rolfe nodded, placing a hand gingerly over his injured eye. “It’s alright, love. It only hurts a little and I managed to get away mostly unscathed,” he argued.

“Well don’t get caught by them again!” Pocahontas scolded. “That thought terrifies me. Imagine what they could’ve done to you… Come on, let’s keep going.” She began to jog again, as did the others, and looked down at the little doe fawn that was fast asleep in her arms. “And how did you come upon the fawn? She’s adorable and I just love her!” Pocahontas cooed.

Rolfe ran alongside Pocahontas, glancing down at the orphaned deer. “Well I found her when I came upon the pirates. They killed her mummy for food and I couldn’t leave her alone so I brought her with me. I figure we can send her back to the village with Siwili when he finally turns back,” Rolfe suggested. “They can raise her to adulthood and then set her free.”

“I’m glad you cared enough to take her with you, John,” Pocahontas murmured as the party rushed up a slight incline. “Have you given her a name?” she inquired.

Rolfe shook his head. “I figured it would only be fair to let Siwili’s village name her since they’re going to be the ones raising her. Unless _you_ want to give her a name. I suppose it’s not that big of a deal either way,” Rolfe pronounced, shrugging his shoulders.

“If I could name her, I would call her Ka-Okee,” Pocahontas declared proudly.

“I don’t know what that means but it sounds adorable,” Rolfe remarked.

Pocahontas smiled. “I always thought it was a nice name for a little girl and here we have one.”

Loud panting from behind came to the attention of John Rolfe and Pocahontas. “Slow down! You guys are going too fast!” Nicole pleaded, huffing and puffing to keep up. Rolfe glanced briefly over his shoulder and rolled his eyes, speeding up to catch up with their leader Siwili.

Pocahontas sped up her pace to match Rolfe’s. “What did she say?” she inquired.

“Nothing important,” Rolfe countered. “She’s just being annoying.”

“Ah,” Pocahontas replied.

…

The crew heard the distant gunshot and stopped, turning northeast. “That’s the direction the shot came from!” Guy Rush pointed out. “Didn’t Ignacio steal a gun?”

“Aye,” replied Flame, stopping in his tracks. The whole crew stopped behind him. “The fool just gave away his location. Seems he changed direction on us,” he added with a wicked grin.

“What do you figure he was shooting at?” asked Blank Samuel.

Flame shrugged. “A rabbit, a deer, maybe even a hostile tribe? Who cares? Point is we head northeast now and catch up to him. No stopping until we get ‘im! The fop will tire eventually.”

Mick Sane frowned. “But sir, the lot of us are tired already. We’ve been runnin’ all day and we’ve had nothing to eat since lunch!” he bellyached, wishing he had been injured in the battle. Then he could have stayed behind with the others and rested.

“Silence, Mick!” Flame charged. “Ignacio has been running just as long as us and I know for a fact we can outlast that pitiful excuse for a Spaniard. He’ll collapse eventually and then we’ll spring on him. No stopping until we catch the idiot!” he insisted, speeding up his pace. He turned to the bosun who was lagging behind slightly. “Bosun, can you take Françoise and run ahead again? You caught him once. I’ll bet you could do it again,” Flame proposed.

The bosun was holding onto his wounded shoulder, wincing in pain that was only aggravated by the fast pace of the crew’s movement. “I don’t think at this point I can go much faster than you, sir. My shoulder is killing me,” he reluctantly admitted, grinding his teeth.

“How does he keep managing to get so far ahead of us?!” Cole Hughes raged.

Bo Copper snorted. “He’s fast on his feet, that’s why.”

“A Spanish spy would have to be fast in case he got found out!” Guy Rush pointed out.

“Well apparently he did get found out. That’s why he was in the brig when we found him,” Flame argued, waving Rush off. “But he is indeed a fast runner, it seems. Now stop your chitchat, men, and get a move on! There’s no excuse for letting Ignacio get any farther away from us than he already has!” he charged, picking up the pace.

Buckle Bree seemed nervous. “What if we run into more Injuns? We didn’t fair too good against their last attack,” he reminded the crew, discouraged.

“That’s because they ambushed us! Plus Adahy took the opportunity to betray us. Next time we see Injuns, it’ll be us doing the ambushin’ if I’ve anything to say about it!” Flame growled. “We’ll track the bastards down, raid their villages, and have our way with all their maidens!”

Mick Sane hung his shoulders. “I haven’t got the energy to be having me way with any maidens. They’d have better luck having their way with me if we ran into each other,” he groaned, yawning deeply. His eyes crossed out of exhaustion as he tried to keep up with the men.

“Stop your bellyachin’!” Flame snapped. Internally he worried about the crew’s low morale, getting the hint that only food and rest would do the trick to restore it. “Just keep going, men. The faster we run then the sooner we’ll find us a village to raid, be rest assured.”

…

Sunrise came before Siwili thought it safe to take a rest. Rolfe was practically dead on his feet and Nicole had fallen quite a ways behind. They had not seen her for at least a couple hours. True to Rolfe’s word, he had not waited up for her or shown any backtracking regarding the things he had told her that he would do. The brave found a nice spot under a tree. It was by a stream in a decent-sized meadow not far from the forest’s edge, an ideal place for the group to relax.

Siwili built a fire pit in a bare spot of earth. He went to start a fire after laying all the bedrolls out. John Rolfe collapsed facedown on his the moment he spotted it. Seconds later, Pocahontas heard Rolfe snoring lightly. Meanwhile Meeko had found a nice patch of wild strawberries, an exhausted Percy was resting by Siwili’s side, Flit was asleep in Pocahontas’s hair, and the fawn Ka-Okee was happily snacking on the tasty green grasses and wildflowers nearby.

Pocahontas transferred Flit to Rolfe’s head and joined Siwili as he used a bow drill to start a fire in the pit. “John is asleep. It is safe for us to talk now,” she indicated.

Siwili smiled. “Should we wake him up when the food is ready?”

Pocahontas shook her head. “He needs sleep more than anything right now, plus he was snacking all night. We can feed him when he wakes up but for now I say we let him rest.”

Siwili nodded. “Very well then. Pocahontas, do you have any idea why the yellow-haired girl has been following us?” he inquired curiously, not having been able to ask before.

“John told me she wanted to go to Jamestown. She’s a little too dimwitted to realize that she can’t make the journey though,” Pocahontas explained, scoffing slightly.

Siwili just shook his head in disapproval without making eye contact as a small flame appeared in his tinder. He leaned down and blew on it to bring the fire to life. “I sense Nicole will not live many years,” he finally remarked. “It is a pity. She is so young.”

“I’ll go gather some more firewood. Why don’t you go to the stream to make some hominy porridge when you get a chance?” Pocahontas proposed. “The big clay pot is in my pack.”

“Sure,” Siwili replied. They went about their separate tasks and then met up again back at the fire ten minutes later. Pocahontas had a large bundle of wood in her arms and Siwili was already seated at the fire. He had a pot full of cold porridge set above the flame and he was cutting chunks of fresh fish into it to make fish porridge. Meeko came over, smelling it.

Pocahontas raised a brow in surprise. “How did you catch the fish?” she inquired.

Siwili raised his bow. “The fish are small but the bones are edible. You’ll see, it’ll be delicious,” he indicated, placing his bow back down on the ground.

“I’ll bet,” Pocahontas replied, sitting down next to him. She dumped the bundle of firewood next to the fire pit and added some to the fire to make the food cook faster as she was quite ravenous.

“When we reach the next major river, we must travel west along its route until we reach the divide between the two main tributaries that flow into it. Then we follow the second one north into the mountains. That should keep us safely out of Duale territory,” Siwili explained.

Pocahontas nodded her understanding. “Good. Thank you so much for acting as our guide. I’m sure we would’ve run into serious trouble without you.”

“You are welcome,” Siwili replied, stirring the pot of porridge. “I wish I could accompany you the whole way to make sure you get home safely but my family will need me to provide meat for the winter. I cannot leave them alone too long. Awenasa is pregnant.”

“I understand. And congratulations! I hope she bears you another happy and healthy child.” Pocahontas paused. “So Siwili, tell me exactly what happened during your battle with the pirates? How did John lose his other shirt?” she inquired, poking at the fire to maintain it.

Anger flashed in Siwili’s eyes. “When I arrived at the scene, those wicked men had tied John up to a pine tree. Then an enormous man… this man I speak of was the exact opposite color of John, might I add. Dark as the night itself minus the moon and stars…”

Pocahontas gasped. “That was the bosun,” she blurted. “What did he do?”

Siwili continued, “It was this man, this ‘bosun,’ who tore John’s shirt off with his bare hands. It was clear from his body language that he intended to beat John very severely with a bundle of stripped willow branches. So that is what happened to John’s shirt. Did he not mention this?”

Pocahontas’s face flashed with rage and she jumped to her feet. “He was going to do WHAT to John?!” she roared, staring down in disbelief at Siwili who remained seated.

“Beat him. Judging by this bosun’s size, he could have killed John. He was not quite Chief Heamalahilo’s size but neither was he much smaller. John is lucky to be alive,” Siwili professed.

Pocahontas shot a glance to Rolfe, still fast asleep on top of his bedroll. His travel pack and stolen musket were at his feet. “I’m going to have to get John to show me how to use that gun when he wakes up,” she seethed, plopping down with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Gun?” Siwili inquired.

Pocahontas nodded. “It is what those fire sticks are called,” she said, pointing. “If I ever see any of those evil men again, I intend to blow their heads off for what they tried to do.”

“Ah,” Siwili replied, continuing to stir the porridge. He went silent for a few moments but then turned his head up to Pocahontas again. “You know, I had not realized that John could fight. He killed one of the men himself with a long knife like the one you carry,” he said, pointing to Pocahontas’s machete. “I’m willing to bet John would be good with a tomahawk.”

“Oh yes. John can fight. He killed several of the pirates upon our first escape from them… It’s a long story but the gist of it is that they were going to rape me. John stopped them.” Pocahontas then laughed. “You know what John said to me when we all met at the north lake? He told me that he had underestimated your fighting abilities. It seems you both underestimated each other.”

Siwili chuckled. Thirty minutes later the porridge was hot and the fish pieces were falling apart. Siwili poured it into two separate bowls and handed one to Pocahontas. They had both brought the bowls to their lips just as a ruffling in the tall grasses nearby gained their attentions. In an instant Siwili had placed his bowl on the ground and nocked an arrow in his bow, pointing it toward the grasses. He watched and waited until a miserable figure crawling on hands and knees emerged from the obscuring meadow, hay sticking every which way out of her blonde locks.

Pocahontas and Siwili heard Nicole groan and exchanged glances with each other just as the girl raised her head and looked at them through weary eyes. “Huh. I’m impressed that she caught up with us that fast,” Pocahontas admitted, wide-eyed with surprise. “Then again maybe I shouldn’t be. It’s not like she was carrying anything.” She started to eat her porridge. “Mm. Siwili, this is very good.” Siwili relaxed and set down his weapon, reaching again for his bowl of porridge. It was empty. Siwili cast an annoyed glance at a retreating raccoon just as Meeko disappeared among the grasses. “Here, let me refill you,” Pocahontas offered, taking the pot in hand. She filled Siwili’s bowl up again. “Sorry about Meeko. He has an unusual obsession with food.”

“It is alright,” Siwili replied. “There is plenty. Thank you.” He started to eat as the exhausted white girl crawled over. She slowly and very unsteadily pushed herself up to her feet.

Nicole immediately set longing eyes on the aromatic pot of fish porridge heating over the fire. Pocahontas narrowed her eyes at Nicole and shook her head, pointing to the same patch of wild strawberries that Meeko had been raiding earlier. Nicole had been warned not to come along and Pocahontas was not about to let John Rolfe’s well-earned portion go to her.

When Percy smelled the porridge and whined, Pocahontas glanced down. “Oh! I’m sorry, Percy. I forgot to give you your share,” she noted, reaching into her pack for a small bowl. She filled it up and placed it in front of the pug. Percy yipped contentedly and started lapping at his meal. “It seems Meeko stole a portion for himself and he’s not getting any more unless we have some left over later. What do you think, Percy?” Pocahontas remarked. The pug yipped in agreement.

Nicole looked at the meager berries with scant enthusiasm and turned her attention back to the fish porridge. When she saw the dog being served she stomped her foot angrily and walked over to Pocahontas, snapping at her in French as she pointed to the pug.

“What’s her problem?” Siwili asked. “What did she say?”

“I don’t know what she said. I don’t speak French.”

Siwili raised a brow. “Can’t you use your gift?”

“Sure I could,” Pocahontas admitted. “I just don’t want to.”

Siwili snorted as he finished his bowl. “You must reeeaaally not like her.”

“You got that right,” Pocahontas replied, eating another mouthful of porridge. She swallowed. “As far as I’m concerned, she and I have nothing to talk about. She’s the one who gave John a concussion when she broke a bottle over his head. For what reason I haven’t a clue.”

Siwili’s eyes widened. “I did not know that… So I guess John has two reasons to hate her then?”

Pocahontas nodded as she finished her bowl. Her eyes fluttered. “I cannot begin to tell you how exhausted I am. Are you done eating, Siwili?” she inquired, gathering up the empty bowls.

“Yes,” Siwili replied, handing his to her. Nicole looked pleadingly at Siwili, hoping he would take pity on her. When he noticed her attention on him, he nervously leaned over to Pocahontas and whispered, _“Why is she staring at me? It’s freaking me out.”_

“She wants you to give her John’s portion. Don’t give in,” Pocahontas warned, rising to her feet. “If she’s hungry, let her eat berries.” She walked over to the stream to wash the dishes.

Meanwhile Siwili put the cover on the pot and tied it down with twine to save it for when John Rolfe woke up hungry later on. He placed the pot by the head of his bedroll and laid down on his back, stretching his arms behind his head with a contented sigh.

Nicole was more than a little outraged, certain that John Rolfe had previously convinced his native friends not to give her anything. They were willing to feed a dog but not her. Why was the dog being treated better than a human being? She stomped angrily over to John Rolfe, asleep on his bedroll, and kicked him in the side. “Réveillez-vous, John!” she snapped.

The kick was not hard enough to wake Rolfe up but it did make him grunt. Siwili, Pocahontas, and Percy witnessed the act. Percy ran over and barked angrily at Nicole whereas Siwili sat up in bed and motioned for her to back away. “Nicole, saté no ra to dota te Djahn!” he warned.

“How _dare_ you!” Pocahontas roared, set to an instant rage. She put the clean earthenware down by the campfire and stomped over, snatching the girl by the wrist. With a vice-like grip, she dragged Nicole over to the berry patch and threw her down on the ground. Pocahontas pointed to the strawberries. “If you’re hungry, you eat this. You are not entitled to anything from us! John warned you and don’t you dare lay your hands on him again!” she spat in English, despite knowing that Nicole would not understand. She gave the Frenchwoman one last furious look and turned on a heel, heading straight back to her own bed roll and plopping down.

Pocahontas reached over and picked Flit up out of John Rolfe’s hair, gently rousing him. “Flit, wake up,” she said, nudging him with a finger. He flew up into the air, blinked the sleep out of his eyes, and looked around curiously. “We need to rest now. Can you backtrack a few miles and make sure the pirates aren’t catching up to us? We need you to keep a lookout. I’ll get John to fire his gun when it’s time to go so you’ll know to come back,” she explained.

Flit dutifully saluted Pocahontas and zipped off south, heading back the way they had come. Meanwhile Nicole moped around by the berries. She glanced at the fruits and reluctantly reached for one, finding it to be sweet and juicy. She ate as many as she could reach but found that her stomach was still growling afterwards. Then she sighed deeply, glancing back at the others who were comfortably snuggled into their bedrolls, and curled up in the grass herself to sleep. Nicole found herself loathing Pocahontas even more than she had previously, particularly now because her wrist throbbed after the robust Powhatan woman had manhandled her. Though she hated Pocahontas, she knew well enough to heed Rolfe’s warning to leave her be. Despite not believing that Rolfe would continue to carry out his threat not to feed her on the journey, there were no doubts in her mind that he would hurt her if she tried anything on Pocahontas.

The rest of the group soon fell asleep under the warm rays of the sun yet sheltered from any excessive heat by the partial shade of the tree. Meeko curled up at Pocahontas’s side as did Percy at John Rolfe’s side. Ka-Okee, after eating her fill, sniffed her way over to John Rolfe and licked his shiny auburn hair before snuggling up to him on the opposite side as Percy.


	17. Living on a Prayer

****By morning, Flame’s crew had slowed its pace of pursuit. The exhaustion was plain on each man’s face until a young buck crossed their path up ahead. Each of the men froze, their bellies rumbling and mouths watering. Flame put a finger to his lips, quieting the crew. He pulled out his musket and silently loaded it, creeping through the brush. He glanced back to the others and signaled for the bosun and Bandit Lee to join him, the two being the next best shots in the crew. The bosun handed Françoise over to Buckle Bree, afraid that she might make too much noise and scare off the deer. The rest of the men stayed put in anticipation of their next meal.

The trio disappeared into the forest up ahead for twenty minutes until the bang of a gunshot was heard over the trees. A loud whistle indicated success. The men cheered with enthusiasm and raced off to find the bosun and Bandit Lee gutting and skinning a fresh carcass. “It’s a little bigger than the last one! Cheers!” Bandit Lee cried when the rest of the crew appeared.

The pirates all hurrahed as they hurried over to the kill. “And there’re less men to share with! Bigger portions for everyone!” decried Mick Sane.

“It’s a bona fide feast,” acclaimed Blank Samuel. “If only we had some rum to go along with it.”

Flame pointed to Sick Phillip, Cole Hughes, and Guy Rush. “You men get the firewood.” Then he pointed to Mick Sane and Bo Copper. “You two prepare the fire pit.” Finally he set eyes on Buckle Bree. “You find sticks for the spit. Hurry it up, the lot of you! The sooner we devour the beast, the sooner we can go get our revenge!” he commanded, waving his sword in the air.

The crew was so hungry that it took no longer than ten minutes for each pirate to carry out his task. Before long the sumptuous scent of sizzling venison permeated the area. There was more than enough food to go around yet the pirates devoured every last scrap of meat. They fed the less appetizing organs to Françoise who gobbled them up greedily. By the time they were done, not even a morsel of bone marrow remained.

The satiated group lazed around the warm fire in the blissful aftermath of the repast. The men said not a word in hope that Flame would allow them to rest. After about twenty minutes Mick Sane gathered up the nerve to glance over at the captain, only to find Flame’s eyes closed. A small snore indicated that he was asleep. Mick leaned over to the man next to him, Guy Rush, and whispered, “Tell everyone to keep quiet. Cap’n’s asleep. Maybe he won’t wake up for a while and give us a chance to rest, eh?” Guy Rush nodded and passed on the message.

Bo Copper quietly scooted forward and added more logs to the fire, gently poking at them. The warmth combined with their swollen bellies lulled the crew to sleep in no time.

…

Adahy and Kelele had fallen asleep in a bed of dry leaves when they were both awoken by the sound of a loud gunshot from the south. It was too close for comfort. Adahy commanded Kelele to stay put before he went to investigate by himself. Glancing up at the sky, Adahy noted it was past daybreak as he retraced his steps. Hiding in the bushes downwind, he came upon the crew sitting around a campfire as they devoured the flesh of a recently deceased buck. He crinkled his brow in envy, having only had nuts, berries, and insects to eat in the past several hours.

Adahy spied on the pirates until they finished their meal and fell asleep around the fire, bloated from overeating. He considered killing one of them but ultimately decided against it as the smaller group was rather tight-knit. If even one of them awoke, they would surely spot him and rouse the rest to chase him down. Genuinely more tired than hungry, Adahy returned to Kelele and lead him off further east in case the pirates awoke before he did. He did not want to be asleep in the middle of their path when they came along, sure they would show no mercy.

Adahy covered their tracks up until he found a place to rest near a wild cherry tree at the edge of a small meadow. He fell asleep in the autumn leaves again, snuggled up to Kelele for warmth. While the blade had been silent the whole time, Adahy was too exhausted to wonder what the demon was thinking. There was no doubt in Adahy’s mind that the blade would give him an early wake up call if it sensed the pirates on the move again. The last thing either of them wanted was for the pirates to catch Rolfe first like they had done last time. Though their numbers were smaller now, they would surely be more wary thanks to Adahy’s second act of betrayal.

…

Flit had posted himself several miles south of his friends’ location and was busy keeping a lookout when he heard the sound of a gunshot. He followed the source of the noise further south until he came upon the crew. By the time he got there, they were already seated around a campfire cooking themselves a meal. Since they were stagnant, Flit decided to perch himself up in a tree overlooking the curs and keep an eye on them until they started to move again. Then the hummingbird would go back to warn Pocahontas, Rolfe, and the others.

Flit’s concern was that the pirates would move on as soon as they finished their feast. That did not turn out to be the case. They all fell asleep around the campfire. The hummingbird smiled. If the men were resting, it would give his exhausted friends more time to rest as well. Flit surveyed the area, discovering a few autumn blossoms in a place not far from the crew. He took a break to drink some nectar and then returned to the tree branch overlooking the campfire. There he stayed, remaining awake and alert the whole time as a precaution.

…

Siwili was the first to rise in the early afternoon, being accustomed to less sleep than the others. He sat up on his bedroll and stretched, glancing to his left to find Rolfe on his side snuggled up to Ka-Okee and Percy like they were both stuffed animals. The Englishman had not even bothered to get under the covers the whole day as he had slept in the warm sunlight. The warrior uttered an amused snort before casting a look over to Pocahontas, to Rolfe’s left. She and Meeko were sharing a similar position, albeit nestled into her bedroll like it was a cocoon. The raccoon’s sleepy head poked out of the covers next to hers, resting on the same pillow. Nicole was sleeping some distance away, curled into the soft grass by a barren patch of wild strawberry plants.

It was the smell of cooking turkey and boiling fish porridge an hour later that roused the others. Siwili sat by the fire, a pile of feathers behind him. He used a makeshift spit to roast different parts of the wild bird which he had killed with his bow. Meeko was the first to crawl out of the bedroll and clamber over to the campfire, taking a whiff of the food. Siwili shook a finger at the raccoon as Pocahontas stretched and sat up in bed, her hair a bit frizzled from sleep.

Pocahontas heard Rolfe groan. She watched him slowly roll onto his back and sit up, glancing down at the two animals he had been holding onto in his sleep. After Rolfe had let go of them, Ka-Okee and Percy slowly roused as well. Percy barked and scurried over to the campfire, sitting next to Meeko as he watched the food cook. There was so much of it, he felt excited.

“Did you sleep well, John?” Pocahontas inquired, reaching both arms up into the air as she stretched her back again. She scooted out of her bedroll and began to roll it up neatly.

Rolfe ran a hand over his frazzled hair, taking out his hair strap and putting it back in properly. “Yes, I’m pretty sure I did not wake up even once. Not that I can recall anyway,” he replied, looking up to assess the location of the sun in the sky. It was past midday. Every muscle in his body ached but it did not discourage him. The prior night had been a success. He had effectively led the pirates around and away from the village, thus saving over a hundred lives.

After Rolfe rolled up his bedroll, he and Pocahontas made it over to the campfire just as the first pieces of turkey finished cooking. Rolfe sat between Pocahontas and Siwili. The fish porridge was already boiling and ready to eat. Pocahontas poured it into a bowl for Rolfe. Meeko came over and sniffed it. “Shoo, Meeko. I don’t think John wants to share,” Pocahontas chided, picking the raccoon up and putting him in her lap. “You can have some of the turkey, okay? Mm, doesn’t it smell good?” she remarked, taking a whiff. Siwili indicated for Pocahontas to hold out her bowl and she did. He placed a roasted drumstick and a piece of turkey breast inside it. Pocahontas thanked him and held the pieces up to Meeko’s nose. “You can have these two pieces as soon as they cool a little,” she said to a very happy and very hungry raccoon.

“I wonder how long he’s been awake,” Rolfe remarked, glancing at Siwili.

Pocahontas shrugged as Meeko started to nibble on the searing-hot turkey leg, burning his tongue. He squeaked in pain. “Careful, Meeko. I know you must be hungry,” she uttered before turning back to Rolfe. “John, when we’re all packed up I need you to fire your gun. Flit is acting as a sentinel for us and I told him we’d call him back with a gunshot when we’re ready to go.”

“That’s no problem at all, love,” Rolfe replied, sipping the hot fish porridge in his bowl.

Pocahontas set the bowl with turkey on the ground for Meeko and poked her fingers together. “Also… there’s one other thing I wanted to talk to you about,” she mentioned.

Rolfe glanced at her with a raised brow. “Yes, love?”

“Can you show me how to shoot the musket?” Pocahontas inquired hesitantly, remembering when she had asked her father to teach her archery. Powhatan had been skeptical but still agreed to do it. Pocahontas had been criticized by the warriors though and she worried Rolfe might react like they had. Some males seemed to think that women should not touch weapons period. That very attitude was one of a few things that repelled her from Kocoum’s attempts at courtship.

“Of course,” John Rolfe replied without a moment’s hesitation. “It’s really not that complicated. If you want to take up shooting, I can buy you your own musket when we get back to Jamestown.” Pocahontas smiled and reached over, hugging Rolfe around the belly. He laughed. “What is that for?” he inquired just before eating some more of the fish porridge.

Pocahontas answered him with a squeeze. She let go and turned her attention back to Meeko who had already devoured both pieces of meat and was now chewing on the bones. Pocahontas took the empty bowl and held it up just as Siwili offered her three more pieces, the other drumstick and both turkey wings. Percy enjoyed the last of the fish porridge as well as some white meat. Together the group ate the entire turkey and then started to pack their things.

Pocahontas went to wash the dishes in the stream. John Rolfe flipped out one of the knives that he had stolen from Spike-Eyes. He pulled up his left sleeve and tested its sharpness on a few sparse arm hairs on his bicep, pleased to discover that it was razor sharp. Just as he brought it to his face to shave, Siwili looked up from his own packing exploit. The warrior gasped and ran over to Rolfe, snatching the knife out of his hands. “Hey!” Rolfe protested, reaching for it.

“Aseté seun to ra do mistraté aba kun, Djahn?” Siwili countered, holding the knife behind his back with his left hand and shaking a finger at Rolfe with the right. “A suné ketus taus!”

Rolfe pouted and looked irritably at Siwili. “I just want to shave. I’m not going to cut myself. I’ve done this a million times already!” he futilely argued, offering a hand for the knife’s return. Siwili just shook his head. “Please, give it back!” Rolfe pleaded.

Pocahontas overheard the squabble and stopped what she was doing, coming over to investigate. “What’s going on, John?” she inquired as she walked up behind Siwili, taking note of the knife.

“I found a razor-sharp knife and I was just trying to shave but Siwili won’t let me!” Rolfe griped. He turned his attention back to the warrior. “Come on, I’m not a child. I know how to shave my own face!” he insisted vehemently. “I’ve done it nearly every day for fourteen years!”

Pocahontas narrowed her eyes in annoyance and snatched the knife from Siwili when he was not looking, handing it back to John Rolfe. “Don’t give him that! He’ll hurt himself!” Siwili protested in Gunalo. Pocahontas simply shook her head and took Siwili by the wrist, dragging him off to the forest as Rolfe got to work on his usual self-care regimen.

“Thank you, love!” John Rolfe called after them.

When they were alone, Pocahontas turned to Siwili and explained, “He’s just trying to remove the hair on his face. He knows how to do it without cutting himself. Trust me, he’ll be fine.”

Siwili looked perplexed. “Why would he want to do that?”

“He says it itches,” Pocahontas replied with a shrug.

A thoughtful look befell Siwili’s face. “The ways of these white foreigners are very strange indeed,” he remarked, glancing through some foliage at John Rolfe back in the meadow. “Why do men like him even grow hair on their faces to begin with?” he inquired curiously.

“Well I used to wonder that too but then I was made aware that most men in the world grow hair on their faces. It is only the men from our land who do not. We are the exception,” she explained.

“What…? Really?!”

Pocahontas nodded. “I know. Weird, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

Pocahontas beckoned Siwili back to the meadow. “Come, let’s pack our things and get moving.”

When they returned, Siwili went over to John Rolfe to watch him shave. It was a more entertaining pursuit for the warrior than packing up his own stuff. The Englishman had already razed half his face and was working on the other side. It was not the closest shave for lack of shaving cream but it would have to do. “Hello again,” Rolfe said, flashing Siwili a brief smile as he went about his work. When he was done, he put the knife away and started packing.

Siwili took hold of his arm and stopped him, turning the Englishman back to face him. “Astet mo tanosilo faskit zité?” he murmured with a look of amazement, stroking Rolfe’s jawline. True to Pocahontas’s words, John Rolfe had managed not to cut himself with the knife.

Rolfe backed up. “Yes. I’m sure it’s very fascinating, my friend. But let’s get a move on, shall we?” he proposed in an amiable tone, pointing to the packs on the ground. The fawn had just finished dining on her usual greens. She walked over to Rolfe and started to prance around him. Rolfe laughed at her antics and gave her a scratch behind the ears. “Are you full of energy today, Ka? I’ll bet you’re ready to walk on your own four feet rather than be carried everywhere, eh?”

Ka-Okee reared up on her hind legs and galloped around the meadow, making high graceful leaps and nearly stomping Meeko in the process. Rolfe put his things away and hefted the heavy pack up onto his knee before swinging it around onto his back. He tied his own waist strap and picked his musket up from where it was lying against the trunk of the shady tree.

Pocahontas came over, packed and ready to go. “Time to signal Flit?” she proposed.

“Of course,” Rolfe replied. “In fact I thought I’d have you do it. I ought to show Siwili too.” When the warrior’s name was mentioned, he glanced up from his own packing. Siwili got up and approached when Rolfe beckoned him over. “Watch this,” Rolfe said, taking the musket in his right hand. He fished out a long white cord from one of the pouches draped around his torso. “This is called a matchcord. First you need to light the matchcord like so,” he explained, kneeling by the embers of the dying campfire. He lit the end of the matchcord and it started to smoke. He held it up in plain view for both Pocahontas and Siwili to see. “Soldiers in battle normally have their commanders light them up but you can also do it individually on the spot with flint and steel. A soldier on guard also normally keeps his matchcord lit so he’s ready to fire anytime. They go through a lot of matchcord that way. Fortunately it’s fairly cheap.”

“Okay,” Pocahontas replied, paying careful attention.

Rolfe held the matchcord between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand and used the other fingers and palm of the hand to support the weight of the gun. He dug in another pouch on his right hip for a small packet of paper. “This is your paper cartridge. It has your gunpowder in it. You first need to put some powder in the priming pan so you open up the lid like so. You tear the top off of the paper cartridge with your teeth like so,” he explained, demonstrating each act. “Next you pour a small amount of gunpowder into the pan. Close the lid and blow the excess off. Make sure you tend your matchcord every third step so that it’s red hot and ready to go,” he detailed, blowing on the burning tip of his matchcord to keep it alight.

Siwili stared in fascination as Rolfe went through the steps even though he did not understand the explanations. Pocahontas had the same look on her face and remarked, “This is complicated.”

“It seems that way at first but once you get used to it, it’ll feel much more intuitive,” Rolfe explained. “Now you lower the stock such that you can see down the muzzle and pour the rest of the gunpowder down the barrel,” he continued, sticking the head of the paper cartridge down the muzzle and shaking it out. “Empty it completely. Now is the part where you put the musket ball down there.” He reached into the sack at his hip and pulled out a small lead ball, showing it to Pocahontas and Siwili before dropping it down the muzzle. “Then you put the broken paper down the end and get out your ramrod. You turn it around, shorten it like so, and push everything all the way down into the bottom of the barrel.”

“Uh huh?” Pocahontas uttered.

“Take the ramrod out, flip it again, and put it back where it belongs under the barrel. Blow on the matchcord again,” Rolfe explained, blowing on the burning tip. “This bit here is called the serpentine. You fit the matchcord between those jaws with a bit of it sticking out like so. Now the gun is ready to fire. Do you want to do it, Pocahontas?” Rolfe inquired, offering her the gun.

“Yes, of course!” Pocahontas replied, taking the musket in hand.

Rolfe showed her the proper way to hold it. “Now be aware that when you fire the musket, it’s going to give you a kick in the shoulder. Might be a bit startling at first but you get used to it. Now point it up into the sky since you don’t want to shoot anyone or anything on the ground. Good. Open the lid of the priming pan and pull the trigger when you’re ready.”

Pocahontas slowly opened the priming pan like Rolfe had showed her. “Like this?”

“Yes, very good,” Rolfe said. “Now I know you aren’t trying to aim right now but in the future if you are trying to aim, it’s always good to keep both eyes open.”

“Okay.”

Rolfe nodded. “Now fire,” he instructed. Siwili put his hands over his ears as Pocahontas slowly placed her finger on the trigger and pulled. The gun gave a hefty kick as it exploded into the air.

**KA-BOOM!**

Ka-Okee panicked and hid behind the tree whereas Nicole sat bolt upright with a snort. “Who, what?! What’s happening? Are they here? What was that?!” she cried out in French.

Pocahontas turned to John Rolfe, smiling. “I did it!”

“That’s right, you did,” Rolfe lauded as she handed the gun back to him. He doused the matchcord and put it away in the sack before closing the pan. Then he handed the gun to Siwili, signaling to the warrior to tie it to the back of his travel pack. “Now we wait for Flit to return and then continue on our way,” Rolfe said, casting a glance south. “Hopefully he won’t be long.”

…

The distant gunshot roused Flame from his heavy slumber. He jumped to his feet and looked around, disoriented at first. Then he looked up into the sky to discover it was past midday. “Men! Wake up!” he charged, kicking a snoozing Blank Samuel in the side. “Get up! Get up, get up, get up! How could you fools have let me fall asleep? We could have caught Ignacio! I heard him fire his gun, he hasn’t been far off this whole time!” he shouted angrily as the men began to rouse.

Flit heard the gunshot as well. That was his signal. Now that it looked like the crew was about to move again, he hurriedly zipped off north to find his friends in the meadow. The first thing he saw when he got there was Nicole getting in John Rolfe’s face about something and irritating the Englishman to no end. “I told you, I’m trying to get them to follow us. We don’t want them going back to the village. There’s women and children there!” Rolfe retorted in French.

“There’s women here!” Nicole protested, pointing to herself and Pocahontas.

John Rolfe narrowed his eyes at Nicole. “Don’t you point at Pocahontas like she’s helpless! She can take care of herself. And if not, Siwili and I will take care of her.”

“Okay, fine! But why did you have to signal them so soon? We don’t have any time to eat now!” Nicole snapped back, mimicking Rolfe’s tone of irritation.

Rolfe gave Nicole a blank look and then rubbed his face with his hand before pointing to the abandoned campfire. A picked-clean turkey ribcage and scattered bones laid in the ashes. “We,” he said, signaling to everyone except Nicole, “already ate. You’re responsible for your own feeding. So go find your own… Flit!” Rolfe cried happily, switching to English quite suddenly as the hummingbird buzzed up in front of him. He offered the little bird a finger to sit on. “Welcome back, my friend. Did you happen to see the pirates when you were out scouting?”

Flit nodded while Pocahontas strolled over. “Did they hear the gunshot too? Do you know?” she inquired. Again the answer was affirmative.

“So they must be on their way then? Let’s get a move on, everyone. Don’t want those curs catching up to us,” Rolfe announced, pointing the group north.

Siwili was about to lead the way but Nicole jumped in front of him. “Wait! You can’t just not give me anything! I’m a human being. I have rights!” she insisted. She tried to run behind Rolfe and reach for his travel pack. “There has to be food in here somewhere!”

“Stop it! That’s my food, not yours! Mine!” Rolfe countered, fleeing from her. Nicole gave chase and they ended up running around in circles like children. Siwili snorted in amusement. To Pocahontas’s surprise, Rolfe started to laugh. The Englishman then whistled loudly. “Meeko, Percy, Flit, Ka-Okee, Pocahontas, Siwili, let’s go! We’re not going to let this spoiled brat steal any of our food, are we?” he announced in English, transitioning into a sprint as the girl tried to catch up to him. He outran her quickly, leaving her in the dust.

Nicole was most indignant. “You can’t just feed yourself and not me, you selfish hog!”

Pocahontas giggled and ran after John Rolfe when Nicole glanced at her. Siwili on the other hand just stood there. He was torn between confusion and amusement. Nicole rounded on him next and tried to get to his pack. Rolfe saw this and stopped, jumping up and down hurriedly. “Siwili, run, run, run! Tallyho, let’s go!” he called back. “Not a moment to lose, I say!”

Picking up the hint that they were playing a game, Siwili smirked as Nicole came at him. He deftly dodged past her, snickering to himself. The animals had already caught up to Rolfe who was in the lead. Siwili sprinted with all his might and closed in on Rolfe, taking the lead at the head of the group. With Nicole lagging behind, they all headed north at a speedy pace.

…

At dusk Rolfe and the others reached the river skirting Duale territory. The wide expanse hosted hundreds of jumping fish in the late evening. It was the fish that inspired the group to make a dinner stop. Pocahontas went to gather wild onions and mushrooms, Rolfe started a campfire on a small bluff over the waters, and Siwili went to the water’s edge with his bow to catch fish.

Pocahontas returned with a sack full of gatherings after Rolfe had gotten the fire lit up. Rolfe stood up as she approached. “Could you tend the fire while I gather more firewood, love?” he beseeched. Pocahontas nodded and sat by the fire, pulling a wide flat stone over to herself. A chilly wind blew lightly, adding life to the flames. Rolfe shivered in his buckskin top. “It’s going to be cold tonight,” he noted, walking off into the forest to gather dry logs, sticks, and kindling.

Ka-Okee snuggled up by Pocahontas’s side to keep warm and Percy soon joined her. Pocahontas glanced down at both of them. “Are you two cold? Here,” she said, reaching into her pack. She pulled out a beaver skin blanket. “It’ll remind you of your mother, Ka,” she remarked, draping the furry side over the pug and fawn. She tucked it in around them to keep the wind from blowing it off. Then she used the flat stone as a surface to chop up the onions and mushrooms. Siwili reappeared with a line of five hickory shad, each about a foot long and still wiggling. “Oh, nice catch!” Pocahontas lauded. “I’ll stuff them and roast them over the fire.”

“That sounds great,” Siwili replied as he plopped down and started to gut the fish, throwing the innards to the fire. He left them for Pocahontas on a stone and went to find sticks for a cooking frame which he set up himself. Rolfe had returned with a large pile of firewood in his arms. Pocahontas stuffed four out of the five shad and began to cook them over the fire.

Meeko started sniffing at the fish before they were even done cooking. “Patience, Meeko,” Pocahontas chided, tapping him on the nose. “You don’t want to burn yourself, do you?”

Rolfe stuffed more sticks under the frame. “That smells heavenly.” He placed a bundle of wild flowers and soft grasses in front of Ka-Okee. “Got this for you, Ka,” he said, giving her a scratch behind the ears. She quickly devoured the offering. “I think if we’re going to travel anymore tonight, someone is going to have to carry Ka-Okee. She looks exhausted,” he noted as the fawn seemed to fall asleep with her head resting on Pocahontas’s thigh. “She is a baby after all.”

“We can take shifts doing that,” Pocahontas proposed. “I don’t mind taking the first one.”

Rolfe smiled. “Maybe there’s a way to make it easier. Perhaps if we tie the ends of that blanket together with twine we could drape it over our shoulders and use it as a bundle to carry Ka.” Flit returned from another nectar excursion and buzzed over to Rolfe. The hummingbird landed on the Englishman’s knee, looking weary. “You look like you could use a good long sleep too, Flit. You’re our sentinel so we had better keep you well-rested for when we need to sleep, eh?”

Flit nodded as Rolfe placed the hummingbird on top of his own head. Finally the fish were practically falling apart on the frame. Everybody used the flat stones around the fire for plates. Siwili, Rolfe, Pocahontas, Percy, and Meeko each got their own fish. Once the food had cooled sufficiently, the group readily devoured it until nothing but bones remained.

After they were done packing up, Rolfe used a long stick to write the words ‘COME AND GET ME, UGLY’ into the dirt. He then drew an arrow pointing westward. _“Hehehe, that ought to get him,”_ Rolfe whispered to himself, amused at his own boldness. Percy walked over and looked at the text and then up at Rolfe. “I’m already dead if he catches me again anyway so I see no reason not to have fun with this,” he argued, self-conscious at the pug’s skeptical look.

With a bundled fawn hanging from her torso, Pocahontas came over and laughed when she read the words. “I had no idea you were so cheeky, John,” she remarked, a hand over her mouth.

“Flame brings it out in me,” Rolfe reported, putting the blame for his impish behavior elsewhere. Siwili came over with his rucksack on his back. He tilted his head at the strange markings in the dirt. Rolfe pointed a thumb at Siwili and said, “I know what he’d be thinking if he could read that. He’d think ‘This fellow is awfully bold for someone who got himself captured and had to be rescued.’ And that is why I am rather thankful Siwili doesn’t know English.”

Pocahontas burst out laughing. Siwili turned to her with an inquisitive eye. She kept laughing until she snorted and then she clapped a hand over her mouth to force herself to stop.

John Rolfe loudly cleared his throat and picked up his musket. “Time to signal those swashbuckling ninnies,” Rolfe said, reaching in a pouch for his matchcord. “Ah, there you are,” he uttered, pulling it out. He lit the tip from the fire and loaded the musket. Once it was prepared to fire, he glanced back at Pocahontas. “Why don’t you bring Ka-Okee over that way and hold onto her tight so she doesn’t get too scared?” he proposed.

“Sure,” Pocahontas replied, still giggling as she went off to do as John Rolfe asked.

Just before Rolfe was about to fire, he heard a footstep coming from the brush and pointed the muzzle toward it. “Who goes there?!” he insisted, calling into the darkness. Nicole stepped out, looking even more dangerously thin than the last time they had seen her that afternoon. She stood on two shaky feet and finally collapsed to the ground when she spotted them. Rolfe looked relieved. “Oh, it’s just you,” he said in French, placing a hand on his thumping heart. Once he had recovered his sense of security, he aimed the musket up into the air and fired.

Nicole screamed at the top of her lungs in fright. “WHY do you keep doing that?!” she raged, still panting from the exertion of trying to catch up to them. She pushed herself up on hands and knees and sniffed the air, detecting the lingering scent of roasted fish.

“Already told you,” John Rolfe countered, closing the lid pan. He doused the matchcord and put it away for later use. Then he watched in perturbation as Nicole scrambled over to the dying campfire and began to lick and suck on the discarded fishbones. “Ew…”

Pocahontas came back over after calming Ka-Okee down and getting her back to sleep. “What…? Is that Nicole? Is she…? Ew!” she uttered when she saw what the girl was doing. “Percy licked those clean already. Didn’t you, Percy?” she cooed, looking down at the pug.

Percy nodded proudly. “Hold on, everyone,” Rolfe stated, signaling the others to stay put. He walked up to Nicole and knelt at her side with an unreadable look. “Tell me, mademoiselle,” he began after a short pause. “Have you, pray tell, _learned_ anything through all this?”

John Rolfe saw Nicole stiffen before she glanced up at him slowly with tearful glassy eyes. She dropped the fishbones back into the pile of ashes. _“I…”_ she barely uttered.

Rolfe waited for her to continue but she struggled to form words. “Yes? Go on.”

Nicole pushed herself up into a sitting position and sighed, wrapping her arms around her knees. She hiccuped and buried her face in her arms, murmuring, _“I sh-should’ve stayed in the village.”_

John Rolfe’s face brightened. “That’s right! That is absolutely correct,” he lauded, jumping to his feet. He called to Pocahontas. “Love, we’ve finally had a breakthrough! Nicole Lorrise St. Germaine, God willing, has actually learned something from all of this!”

Pocahontas’s eyes widened and she walked over. “What…? Seriously?”

“Yes! She just admitted it!” Rolfe extolled. “She finally acknowledged that she should have stayed in the village. God bless her heart, her stubborn little heart that so doubted my words!”

Nicole burst into tears. “What do I do?! I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you! I’d go back now if I could but I know I’d just run into those pirates! Please I beg you to tell me what to do, Monsieur Rolfe! I’ll do anything! I’ll listen this time, I promise! And I won’t doubt your words!”

“Excellent!” Rolfe replied, sitting in a squat. He draped his arms over his knees and interlaced his fingers together as he gazed at Nicole. “Now I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,” he stated calmly. She stopped crying and looked at him. “We’re going to look straight to the Almighty which is of course where we naturally should be looking as often as possible anyway. First you must ask forgiveness for your sins and then we will pray for God to send you what you need. Come, we pray,” he expressed, clasping his hands together as an example to her.

Nicole blinked but followed his example, closing her eyes tight. “Dear Christ,” she began in a weak voice, “p-please forgive me for all the foolish and selfish things I’ve done since my last confession. I’m sorry for everything I did to John Rolfe and Pocahontas on the ship and afterwards. I’m sorry for taking the gifts that the Indians gave me for granted. They saved my life and I should have been thankful. I’m also sorry for not listening to Monsieur Rolfe and trying to follow him on this dangerous journey even though he warned me not to.”

“Perfect,” Rolfe declared. “I think that covers about everything. Now my turn. Dear God, You have heard this child’s prayer and I ask You to forgive her. I know You know that Pocahontas and I cannot bring her along with us because our path will likely get even more perilous before things get better. I put my trust in You to look out for Nicole Lorrise St. Germaine and guide her to safety or bring along someone soon who can help her survive in this treacherous wilderness. As a show of my trust in You, I give her this offering to tide her over until You can make such arrangements for her.” He untied his waist strap and swung the pack off his pack, perusing its contents. Then he offered Nicole a piece of dried fish and a pawpaw fruit.

Holding the food items in her two hands, Nicole looked at both of them like they were precious gems. _“Th-thank you,”_ she whimpered.

Rolfe clasped his hands again. “God, thank You for listening and amen,” he finished. He rose to his feet and hefted his travel pack back on, tying the waist strap tight. He glanced down to Nicole. “Don’t forget to say grace before you eat,” he reminded her. “Farewell, my dear.” He turned, switching back to English as he addressed Pocahontas. “Alright, let’s go.”

Pocahontas turned to follow Siwili just as Nicole reached out and cried, “Wait!”

Rolfe stopped in his tracks and glanced back at the French girl. “Yes, mademoiselle?”

“Don’t go! Don’t leave me alone! I thought…”

“You are not alone,” Rolfe interrupted. “God and Jesus Christ are with you. Their spirits have surrounded you in an aura of safety. Remember your faith. Now I must depart.”

Nicole started to shiver. “But it’s so cold!”

Rolfe pointed her to the dying campfire with a pile of excess firewood near the pit. “Revive the fire and warm up. If the pirates come along, hide. Once daylight comes, you start right back in the direction you came from and go back to the village.” For the last time Rolfe turned and left, his companions disappearing into the darkness after him.

…

Every sound in the blackness frightened Nicole. She stayed by the meager fire, too afraid to venture into the forest for more wood. She heard coos and hoots, growls and things moving through the brush. A wolf howled in the distance, sending a spike of fear through her. She had long since said her thanks and eaten the small meal that John Rolfe had provided. She was still hungry but the pangs were not as bad as they had been. Her sleeveless buckskin dress was not enough to keep her warm in the chill and she shivered as the fire began to die. When she looked up, she squealed at the sight of several pairs of beady eyes watching her from the darkness.

The soft sound of a footstep frightened the unidentified creatures, causing them to scatter and run off. Nicole thought she heard what sounded like a dog’s panting. More footsteps approached. Nicole turned and crawled into the brush, hoping to hide from whoever or whatever it was. The glowing embers of the fire revealed a human form stepping forth near the fire pit. “Come out! I know you’re hiding,” a voice charged in English, words that Nicole did not understand. Her heart pounded and she closed her eyes, praying that whoever it was would go away. More footsteps approached and suddenly a strong hand yanked her out of the brush and dragged her back near the fire. The man dropped her there. “Who are you? You are not who I was looking for.”

Nicole found the courage to glance up at the man. He looked like one of the natives yet he was wearing white man’s clothes. “S’il vous plaît, monsieur. Ne pas me faire du mal!” she cried. An oddly familiar-looking hound was at the man’s side. The dog boldly approached her. _“Brie?”_ she uttered. The dog began to lick her hand. “Brie! C’est toi!” She looked fearfully up at the man. “Êtes… Êtes-vous un pirate?” she inquired fearfully, trembling from both cold and fear.

Adahy’s knowledge of French was limited. He had been to France with Captain Bleud but that had been a long time ago. “Parlez pas Anglais?” he clumsily inquired with a pitiful accent.

Nicole shook her head. “I am from St. Augustine,” she spoke slowly in French so he would understand. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you or are you not a pirate, monsieur?”

“Not,” Adahy replied.

The dog moved closer to Nicole and she hugged him around the neck. “Then why do you have my father’s dog Brie?” she asked warily. She did not know what to make of the man.

“The dog is loyal to me. His name is Kelele,” Adahy corrected, slightly angered. “I did not steal him. The pirates tried to kill him, I… saved him.”

Nicole blinked thoughtfully. “Kelele is not a bad name…” she said softly. The dog whined and Nicole blushed a little. “Th-thank you for saving him, monsieur.”

“Listen, girl,” Adahy charged. “Did you see a white man come through here with a warrior and a young woman? I am searching for these three. The paleface and the woman have done me wrong,” he expressed, showing her his stump-wrist. Nicole gasped.

“That’s awful!” she expressed. “Did they do that?” He nodded. “I’m so sorry!”

Adahy shrugged and looked away. “It is not your doing.”

“They… I mean, the people you’re talking about, they abandoned me here. They said they were going on a long treacherous journey to Jamestown and I was not allowed to come. I wanted to catch a ship back to France but they said I was too weak to go,” Nicole uttered indignantly.

“Which way did they go?” Adahy interrogated. “Did they cross the river here?”

Nicole shook her head and pointed west. “They went that way. What are you going to do if you catch them? Cut their hands off too?” she asked curiously. “My father always told me revenge is a bad thing. I think you should at least try to forgive them.”

Adahy snorted. “Never!”

“You will feel better if you do. Hurting them won’t make your hand grow back,” Nicole argued.

 _Actually it will,_ the demon reminded Adahy in a devious whisper.

Adahy shook his head at Nicole. “You know nothing.” He whistled for Kelele. The dog gave Nicole one final lick and readily loped alongside his new master. The duo turned west. “Goodbye, girl. Flame’s crew will be coming soon so I recommend you hide,” he advised, glancing back over his shoulder. “They will assuredly find you if you stay here. Go east.”

“Wait!” Nicole cried, jumping up. “You’re not going to leave me too, are you? Please, I don’t stand a chance out here on my own!” she pleaded, running after him.

Again Adahy snorted. “That is not my concern.”

Nicole reached him and stumbled, landing on her face in the soft autumn leaves. She grabbed his ankle and burst into tears. “Please don’t leave me, monsieur! I will make myself useful! I can be your hands!” she begged, holding on tight. “I can’t stand to be alone.”

 _Either kill her or leave her,_ the blade instructed. _Her soul is not worth much._

Adahy kicked her off. “I am perfectly capable on my own. You will only slow me down.”

Nicole scrambled shakily up to her feet again and ran after him as he made to leave. She ran around him and blocked his path. “Please, monsieur! If you take me along, I’ll… I’ll…”

“You’ll what?!” Adahy charged, annoyed. He crossed his arms in a look of irritation.

Nicole bit her lip, wracking her brain for an answer. She could think of one thing and one thing only. As shameful as it was, she saw no alternative. She took a deep breath and steeled herself for a possible negative reaction. Then she rapidly stepped forward and kissed Adahy on the lips, seizing him around the waist with her skinny arms. She hoped to God he would not revile her.

Adahy froze at first, all reasonable thoughts and plans dissipating in the moment. Once his mind registered what was happening, he found himself melting into the young woman. Nothing else seemed to matter. The kiss felt like eternity but in reality it was only a few seconds before the demon protested. _You must kill her now!_ it ordered. _She is distracting you._ Adahy’s eyes popped open when he heard the blade’s whisper. He looked at Nicole, her delicate eyelids and blonde eyelashes closed in bliss. Adahy did not move away from her. Rather he drew his brows together and picked his boot up off the ground, bending his knee so he could reach the blackstone dagger. He reached back gingerly, clutching the hilt in his hand. _Yes… yes…_ the blade encouraged.

Nicole finally drew back with a sigh. “I…” she uttered shyly.

But before Nicole could even finish a sentence, Adahy took the glowing blade and threw it as far as his natural strength would allow. The demon had no time to react before Adahy could not even hear its voice anymore, its venomous whispering voice. The demon gone, his mind was clear.

Nicole squealed in startlement at this sudden motion. “Wh-what was that?!” she cried.

Adahy took her by the arm and turned eastward. “Nothing important,” he replied, whistling for Kelele to follow. “Come, let us seek food and shelter where the crew will not find us.”

…

Pocahontas, Rolfe, Siwili, and the animals had traveled west through the night, their clothes and movements keeping them warm enough in the nighttime chill. As the dawn rose, so did the temperatures. The group felt it was a good time to stop and rest when they came upon another meadow. Since they were still near the river, Siwili caught more jumping fish and they had fish stew for breakfast. Ka-Okee woke up to eat more grasses, leaves, and flowers.

Meeko found a bush of wild blueberries. After eating his fill, he pointed them out to Pocahontas who gathered some in a bowl for the others. Once everyone was full and satiated, Siwili laid out the bedrolls and Flit was sent out on his usual daytime patrol. Everyone else fell asleep.

It was not long into the day when John Rolfe started tossing, turning, and mumbling in his sleep. Being a warrior, Siwili was a slight sleeper and was the first to wake up and notice. _“Let me go,”_ Rolfe uttered, jerking his legs at random. Percy had been sleeping next to Rolfe but was woken up by the Brit’s agitation. The sleepy pug went over to Pocahontas instead and plopped down.

“Djahn?” Siwili said, placing a hand on the Englishman’s shoulder. He shook lightly.

“No!” Rolfe cried. He started kicking and tossing frantically, making a total mess of his bedroll.

The loud outburst roused Pocahontas who sat up and glanced over. “John?” she uttered, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She noticed Siwili was awake.

“Bad dream,” Siwili uttered in Gunalo. He shook Rolfe harder. “Djahn! Djahn!”

Pocahontas leaned over and shook him as well. “John, wake up! John!”

Rolfe’s eyes snapped open and he sat bolt upright, darting glances around the meadow. Pocahontas rubbed his shoulder and he looked over at her. “Pocahontas?” he said sleepily.

“You were having a bad dream,” Pocahontas informed him. “What was it about?”

Rolfe thought for a second. “I can’t remember but my heart is pounding slightly,” he replied, placing a hand over his chest. He glanced over to Siwili to find the warrior digging around in his own travel pack. Siwili pulled out a small grape-sized root and offered it to Rolfe.

Rolfe took the item and looked at it curiously. Siwili pointed to his own cheek and mimed sucking. “Sivéla don en abit zet. Minika ablet to ra sim,” Siwili said. Pocahontas understood it as “Put it in your cheek and suck it. I’ll be annoyed if you wake me up again.”

“He wants you to suck on it, John,” Pocahontas explained.

Rolfe raised a brow. “Why? What for?”

“Just do it,” Pocahontas returned, lying back down. She scooted her bedroll closer to Rolfe’s as the Brit gave in and placed the item in his mouth. She helped him straighten out his bedroll.

“It doesn’t taste like anything,” Rolfe remarked. He placed the root in his cheek as Siwili had indicated and started to slowly suck on it.

“Ssh,” Pocahontas replied. “Lay down and go to sleep.”

Rolfe did as told and laid down on his side, facing Pocahontas. His eyelids began to feel heavy again as Pocahontas reached over and started scratching his head. _“Mm,”_ he murmured. _“That feels nice.”_ Pocahontas smiled. Ka-Okee had been exploring the meadow nearby but felt it was time for a nap. She returned to Rolfe’s side and laid down between him and Pocahontas.

…

The crew was beat by the time they came upon Rolfe and Pocahontas’s last camping site on the bluff overlooking the wide river. Flame checked the fire pit, finding the fire was completely out. Not an ember remained. “They left this place many hours ago, it seems. Curse it!”

“Uh… captain?” the bosun’s voice called.

Flame turned and stomped over to the bosun. He immediately saw the words ‘COME AND GET ME, UGLY’ written in the dirt along with a westward-pointing arrow. Flame snarled angrily and kicked at the dirt, obscuring the words. “I’ll kill ‘im! That Ignacio is dead, you hear me!”

“The rude message is not what I was trying to point out, sir,” the bosun expressed. “The arrow says he went west. It could be a false trail. He could have gone straight across the river,” he noted, pointing over the wide blue waters. “Why would he suddenly turn west if he was going straight north before? West is opposite the coast—where the ship would be.”

Flame cursed again. “By gods, you’re right. I’ll send a couple men to swim the river and check for signs of passing on the other side. Meanwhile you follow this ‘false trail’ with Françoise and see how false it really is. The rest of us will stay at the campsite on the bluff. If you find that you’re sure they went west, then fire your musket three times and that’s the way we’ll go.”

The bosun curled a lip, certain that Flame was finding an excuse to rest while still imagining he was doing something useful to find the fugitives. The bosun was not about to contest the captain’s orders though. He hated arguing with Flame. “Very well.”

“Buckle Bree, Bo Copper!” Flame shouted out loud enough to deafen the bosun. He started barking out orders at the crew, sending the aforementioned men across the river.

The bosun whistled for Françoise and immediately headed west, wanting to get away from the irritating sound of Flame’s voice. Françoise followed the scent trail for many yards. Once she and the bosun were far enough away from the others for the view to be obscured by brush and foliage, Françoise stopped on one spot in particular and began sniffing heavily.

“What is it, girl?” the bosun asked. He came up behind her and followed her nose to a dark spot among the pine needles. Something gleamed on the littered forest floor. The bosun raised a brow and brushed aside the pine needles. He picked up a bizarre-looking black dagger. _What the hell is this?_ he wondered as he held the item in the palm of his hand and turned it over curiously. He had never seen any other weapon of its kind before.

 _Sawisa’longuess’ta’riksauritza,_ a voice whispered in his ear.

The bosun’s breath got caught in his throat and he dropped the blade. He turned this way and that, his eyes darting around for the source of the voice that had whispered his real name. His one true birth name. The name of his royalty and of his long lost home. He had not been called by that glorious name in so long that he had all but forgotten it. Now he had heard it once again and it was all too real. He froze, trembling with emotion, and slowly gazed down at the strange dagger on the ground. It was glowing, pulsating, beckoning.


	18. The Heights of Peril

****The bosun knelt down slowly as he gazed at the glowing dagger. He reached out and picked it up again by the hilt. The whispering voice came to him once more. _I am the spirit of the blackstone dagger, Sawisa’longuess’ta’riksauritza, and I know your heart’s desire._

The bosun rose to his feet as he stared at the blade in his hand, holding it some distance away from himself. He shook his head slowly. “You are no ordinary spirit. I know a demon when I sense one. I will not let you have my soul!” he decreed in a firm voice. “I know your kind is helpless without a wielder. I will bury you where no one can ever find you!”

 _You need not speak out loud. You can use your thoughts to communicate with me, mortal. And don’t flatter yourself. It is not your despoiled soul that I am after,_ the blade countered.

The bosun gritted his teeth. _You can read my thoughts?_

 _Only the ones you direct at me,_ clarified the demon. _Most of the time when you think I’m reading your private thoughts, I’m really reading your body language. I am very perceptive._

Still the bosun was skeptical. _How do you know my true name when even I couldn’t remember it?_ he interrogated, narrowing his eyes in suspicion at the blade _. Who are you truly?_

 _A primordial god,_ the demon revealed. _What I know of you, your loved ones have told me. I can travel between here and the other side. On earth I am confined to the blade._

The bosun knitted his brows. _My loved ones?_

 _Your sons, daughters, wives, brothers, sisters, parents, other relatives, and childhood friends. Who else?_ the blade pointed out. _You may feel alone now but that is only a temporary state._

 _You can talk to them?_ the bosun inquired, gasping. _Are they truly all dead?_

 _I do not know. I’ve only spoken to a few,_ the demon admitted. _Listen, my friend. Some of the things you’ve been taught about my kind are not true. Like I said, I have no use for your soul. In fact, the two of us have one very important desire in common._

The bosun snorted. _And what is that?_

 _We both want the one you call ‘Ivory Man,’_ the blade disclosed. _Tell me something though. I know why the one known as Adahy hated him. What is your interest in him when he has done nothing to you directly? Or has he done something to you that I do not know about? I have a suspicion about your reasons for hating him but I don’t want to assume incorrectly._

The bosun narrowed his eyes. _And what is your suspicion?_

 _I’ll tell you after you tell me what you think your reasons are,_ the blade countered. _I asked first._

The bosun sighed in aggravation. _Fine. I hate him… because he is a prime representative of his kind. He is as shamelessly white as they come. I don’t for one second believe Flame’s claim that he is a Spaniard. It was the English who attacked my homeland. He is one of their barbaric kind. I am certain that he deceived his native friend. Now that I know she is a woman, I know why. The whites have a peculiar fetish for exotic women. They need to learn to keep to their own kind. How would they like it if some invading force went to England and snatched up all their wives and daughters? But they don’t think about that because they see themselves as gods with the right to trample all over the rest of mankind. They think we are animals! And this white man, this Ivory Man—he will keep that naive young girl as his concubine. She doesn’t even realize his intent. The girl rightfully belongs to the men of her own tribe, not that white devil! I don’t want to see history repeated. I don’t know why but she reminds me of Shanqilshatsuq. She was my last wife. Our marriage ended in tragedy which I would rather not recount at the moment._

 _It is peculiar then that you are helping the pirates track down this young woman. You know perfectly well what they intend to do with her when they capture her,_ the demon pointed out.

The bosun shook his head. _I am not after her. I only want the white man. If I came upon the two of them, I would take him and leave her,_ he vehemently countered. _While it is true that she should be punished for betraying her own kind, it is the job of her own tribe to punish her. If it was me, I would just tell Flame that she got away. Perhaps later I could track down her tribe and inform them of her treachery. But that cannot be my highest priority._

The demons seemed to utter a mental sigh. _Sawisa’longuess’ta’riksauritza, you were meant for so much more than this life of subservience. You were born to be a chief-king. Take me with you and see what I could do for you in exchange for the untainted souls you track down for me. If we had your Ivory Man in our grasp, our power would be unstoppable! Adahy failed repeatedly to catch him but you succeeded once. I believe you can succeed again and then we can give that pale barbarian his just reward. Together we could be a force to reckon with!_

Still the bosun was suspicious. _And why should I trust a demon?_

 _I think if you thought about it, you would ultimately decide it was worth the risk,_ the blade replied. _The life you’re living now is nothing in comparison to what you could have with me_ — _assuming you do not fail me repeatedly like Adahy did._

The bosun was still hesitant. _I don’t know…_

 _Take some time to think about it. Why don’t you bring me with you for now. You could always toss me aside later should you change your mind,_ the demon argued.

The bosun huffed in frustration as Françoise started to whine. Surely there had to be risks involved by keeping a demon near his person but he had to make a decision. The blade’s promises sounded sweet. _Fine, I will. But that is no guarantee of a partnership!_

 _Understood,_ replied the demon.

The bosun tucked the blackstone dagger into his provisions bag and continued on his way.

…

“But it’s not fully cooked yet,” Adahy protested.

Nicole tore into the flesh of the fish with her teeth. “I don’t care!” she snarled with a big bite in her mouth. She chewed twice and then swallowed, tearing another bite out of the catch.

Adahy could not recall the last time he had seen someone so hungry. He started to poke at the fire again, watching her intently as he cooked the rest of the fish. They had caught the fish with a basic snare trap that they had made together. Nicole had turned out to be useful after all. Kelele laid at Adahy’s side feasting on a raw fish of his own. Adahy glanced down at the canine and gave him a pat before turning his attention back to Nicole. “Just try not to choke on the bones.”

Nicole ate most of the fish, having been far hungrier than Adahy. When she finished, she cleaned herself up to the best of her ability and stuck a couple more logs on the fire to keep warm. The chill in the night air felt like it was turning her back into an ice cube so she turned around to warm up, facing away from the fire and shivering. “So cold,” she uttered.

“It is,” Adahy replied. “I admit even I’m not properly dressed for this weather.”

“How are we going to sleep tonight? We’ll freeze if we stop tending the fire.”

Adahy shook his head. “It would be best to wait until daylight to sleep,” he expressed. “So now that you’re not starving anymore, there’s something I think we should talk about.”

“Yes?” Nicole returned, looking at him with expectant blue eyes. Despite how dirty and emaciated she was, she still looked beautiful in the firelight.

Adahy poked the fire again. “What exactly did you want my assistance for? I mean, I understand you were starving but…” he paused, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I’ve been so utterly set on a single goal for the past few weeks. It seems my whole life was nearly consumed by it. Now I’m just full of confusion. I guess what I’m trying to ask is this: What do you want to do now? Where do you want to go? Surely you don’t wish to return to St. Augustine after the pirate attack.”

Nicole shook her head. “No, I want to go back to France.” She paused, blushing. “Would you… like to come with me?” she inquired bashfully.

Adahy blinked. “But how do you propose we get there? We would need a ship.”

“We would have to go to Jamestown,” Nicole replied. “Have you heard of it? We could catch a ship to England from there and then another to France.”

Adahy thought for a minute. “Jamestown, Jamestown… Isn’t that really far north of here? It’ll be even colder. When the winter starts, there will be snow and ice. That’s one dangerous journey.”

“That’s where John Rolfe and Pocahontas are going,” Nicole countered.

Adahy raised a brow. “Who is Pocahontas?”

“The Indian woman. I thought you said you were after her before.”

“Oh!” Adahy blurted, recollecting. “So her real name is Pocahontas? On Flame’s ship, everyone called her Tomtom and believed her to be a young boy.”

Nicole looked confused. “What do you mean?”

Adahy cleared his throat. “I used to be with the pirates before they attacked St. Augustine. I was never loyal to them, only using them as a means to avoid slavery at the hands of the Spanish palefaces who attacked my homeland. While I was aboard the _Blood Draw_ , we captured a supply ship bound for the northern colonies. John Rolfe and ‘Pocahontas’ were aboard the ship. We found them down in the brig—both claimed to be prisoners bound for execution in the colonies. Flame and Bleud believed their story and allowed them to join the crew under the pretense that Pocahontas was actually a boy named Tomtom. They escaped the ship the first chance they got. I suppose they had planned on fleeing to St. Augustine. But Bleud and Flame were extremely vengeful. They attacked St. Augustine as a form of retaliation against those two for deceiving the crew. Didn’t they tell you about this?” he inquired, surprised.

Nicole gasped. “You mean to tell me that John Rolfe and Pocahontas are the reason the pirates attacked St. Augustine in the first place?” she cried in disbelief.

Adahy nodded. “It was a foolish plan on the crew’s part. The pirates captured me briefly a couple days ago and I discovered that the majority of the crew was wiped out during the attack. They paid a heavy price for taking St. Augustine,” he explained. “I suppose that means you were right in what you said earlier about revenge…” he uttered, reminiscing on his own past actions.

Nicole smiled lightly. “Father called it a poison.”

“Hey,” Adahy blurted. “On that note, whatever did happen to the ship? You were captured from St. Augustine so you must have been on it for a while, right?”

Nicole blinked in surprise at the question but then her face fell. “Yes, I was on it when John Rolfe stole the ship from the crew. We had sailed happily together for a whole week but then there was a terrible storm… I,” she paused, looking sorrowful. “I don’t know what became of the ship and the other girls. I pray that they’re alright. But Pocahontas, John Rolfe, and I were washed overboard. We got separated from them and nearly drowned.”

Adahy swallowed a lump in his throat, a look of guilt passing over his face briefly. Fortunately Nicole was not looking at him. “I’m… sorry. That’s horrible.”

“No! Don’t be sorry for me,” Nicole countered, shaking her head fiercely. A shimmering teardrop flew from her face into the crackling fire. “It’s my fault we were washed overboard. I did a bad thing. I’ve repented for it and God has forgiven me but I still feel bad about it. My friends might be dead for all I know thanks to me. John Rolfe was the ship’s captain. I don’t know if those poor girls could hope to sail without his guidance. I really don’t know.”

Adahy felt slightly more at ease in Nicole’s presence upon learning that she was not the perfect blonde-haired angel she appeared to be. “I… have done many bad things too.”

Nicole sniffled and rubbed a few tears off her face as they fell. “I’m sure you wouldn’t have had a choice while trying to survive among pirates. I had no such excuse.”

“No, the pirates are not the reason for my actions!” Adahy quickly countered. “I am just as much at fault for my deeds as you are for yours. But unlike you, I cannot be forgiven. I will be cursed for eternity. It is my fate as I am a fallen warrior. I tried to fix things but I failed at every turn.”

Nicole blinked. “Why can’t you be forgiven?”

“My deity is not as forgiving as yours,” Adahy uttered.

Nicole frowned. “That’s awful! If I was you, I would convert to another deity.”

“Converters are even more reviled than fallen warriors where I come from!” Adahy snapped, shaking a fist. Nicole was somewhat taken aback by the fervor of his exclamation and she placed a hand to her chest. Adahy buried his face in his hands, full of shame and dread. “You don’t understand. My afterlife will be one horror after another if I…”

“Wait, wait!” Nicole interrupted, raising a hand to silence him. He glanced up at her with a devastated expression. She bit her bottom lip. “I don’t mean to interrupt but… didn’t you tell me that you were already doomed? What exactly do you have to lose by trying another option?”

Adahy looked a little confused. He shrugged. “I just can’t imagine what other deity would have me. I am a fallen Copichican warrior. My soul is worth nothing.”

Nicole drew her brows together. “No soul is worthless!” she exclaimed. “Not in the eyes of my God. Jesus Christ would have you simply because you are a member of the human race. Jesus Christ is open to all mankind. He loves us all no matter who you are, where you come from, or what you used to believe. He will forgive you your sins if you put your faith in Him to do so.”

Adahy raised a brow in surprise. “Really? I don’t know… That sounds too good to be true.”

Nicole uttered a sigh of frustration. “I really wish I had a Bible with me. If you could see what it’s all about, then you would see it is not too good to be true.” She paused, thinking. “Let me ask you this: If you became convinced beyond a reasonable doubt that following Christ would bring you paradise in the afterlife, would you do it? If you were able to learn more about it and begin to understand…? Would you take a chance on conversion then?”

“Well yes! I suppose that would be the only logical action then. But you don’t understand… My god is very powerful. He is not one to be trifled with,” Adahy protested.

“My God is very powerful too! If any being in the universe has the power to protect you from the wrath of your own unforgiving god, then it is my God. This is why we must go to Jamestown. They will have Bibles. You can learn more about Christianity and even be baptized,” Nicole explained. Adahy met eyes with her. “After all,” she added, “what do you have to lose?”

Adahy shrugged. “Nothing, I suppose.”

Nicole rubbed her chin, thinking. “Okay, I think I’ve got a plan. Going to Jamestown now would be very dangerous. We don’t want to risk death before you’ve got the chance to be saved. John Rolfe and Pocahontas were only heading there to lead the pirates away from the Indian village we were all staying in. You and I could go back to the village and stay there for the winter. The people are pretty nice and there’s lots of food. Then we could set off for Jamestown in the spring. It would be much safer in the warm season, don’t you think?”

Adahy sat up straight, blinking in surprise. “There’s a village? Do you know the way there?”

“It should be directly south of John Rolfe and Pocahontas’s last campsite—which you might recall is a couple miles west from our current location,” Nicole explained, pointing westward.

Adahy scratched his chin. “We had better wait until we’re sure Flame’s crew has already passed by there. The last thing we want is to run into them. I propose we stay here until daylight. We can sleep a few hours in the warm sun and then head back to this village of yours.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Nicole paused. “By the way, what is your name? I’m Nicole.”

Adahy smirked lightly. “You can call me Adahy.”

…

It took two days for Pocahontas, John Rolfe, Siwili, and the others to reach the tributaries that fed into the river. They arrived just before dawn and began building a small raft to get the supplies across the first tributary—the one flowing in from the west. They finished the raft after the sun appeared on the horizon. While the weather was misty and brisk, there was only enough room for the travel packs and Ka-Okee on the raft. John Rolfe, Pocahontas, Siwili, Meeko, and Percy all swam through the chilly water. In fact, they turned the swim into a race to see who could get to the other side first. Percy won. Siwili was the only one who did not compete since he was the one dragging the raft behind him using a rope tied around his waist.

John Rolfe had been reluctant to enter the cold water but he found it refreshing and invigorating when he finally did. After a long night of travel on foot, Rolfe had been horribly exhausted. To his surprise, he felt a thousand times better after taking a dip. When the group reached the far side of the tributary, they jogged several miles north along the bank of the second tributary. They made camp when they reached a series of little waterfalls. The highest was no taller than four feet but the gently trickling water made relaxing sounds. When Siwili spotted a wild boar far up ahead on their path, he snatched his bow and ran off to hunt for breakfast. The others stayed behind, building a fire and setting out the bedrolls around it on the top of a large hillock.

Ka-Okee found a pond not far from the top of the falls with calm water and myriad lily pads and reeds. The waterlilies caught her eye and she waded into the shallow water, feasting on the blossoms and moist pads. When she was full, she found her way back to camp and sat down near the huge fire Rolfe had built to dry out his clothes. “I hope you aren’t wandering too far away, Ka-Okee,” Rolfe chided, gently shaking a finger at her. “There are bigger animals out there who just might see you as a morsel.” The fawn shivered at the warning and hid her face in Siwili’s discarded rucksack. Rolfe chuckled. “You’ll be safe if you stay near us,” he assured, patting her.

John Rolfe sat next to Ka-Okee on his bedroll. He had collected a large pile of firewood so he would not have to get up for more later on. The Englishman chucked another log into the flames and stretched his legs out to help the fire dry his pants, yawning. After raiding a tree of acorns, Meeko came over to the opposite side of the fire with his cheeks stuffed full. He dumped a drool-covered pile of acorns onto the dirt and started shelling and eating them one by one. Rolfe flipped off his buckskin shirt, turned it inside out, and laid it out by the fire to dry. He also took out his hair strap so his hair would dry faster, glancing around in search of Percy. The pug had wandered off into the forest presumably to relieve himself. Percy returned soon enough with a very sleepy look on his face. He wasted no time in curling up by Ka-Okee.

“You look tired,” Pocahontas said to John Rolfe when she returned from her foraging. Rolfe nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard her voice. He turned his shirt right side out again and put it back on, glancing up to her. She was holding a pot full of juicy blackberries in one hand and a sack in the other. “I found a treasure trove of wild yams,” she expressed, dropping the sack next to Meeko. She sat down and passed the blackberries to John Rolfe. “And these at the peak of ripeness. Try some,” she offered, snatching a handful for herself.

John Rolfe threw a handful of the berries into his mouth and ate them. “They’re completely sweet. Not tart at all,” he cheerfully replied. “I hate the tart ones to be honest.” He offered some to Ka-Okee but since the fawn was already full, she only ate a couple of the berries.

“Me too. I always test a few on the bush before bothering to collect them in a pot or basket. If they’re tart, I leave them alone. Meeko doesn’t seem to care though. He’ll eat the tart ones just as readily as he’ll eat the sweet ones,” Pocahontas noted, giving Meeko a pat as he started sniffing at the sack of yams. When she offered the raccoon a handful of berries, her hands were already stained with the stuff. Meeko readily gobbled them up and then stuck his head in the yam sack. “Wouldn’t you rather have those cooked, Meeko?” Pocahontas inquired.

A roll of thunder sounded in the distance. Ka-Okee perked up and sniffed the air fearfully. “Uh oh,” John Rolfe remarked. “I hope it doesn’t rain. What do we do?” he asked Pocahontas. In response to his question, the Powhatan woman hopped up to her feet and glanced around. She quickly found a nice tall oak tree with limbs low to the ground and hopped up onto the first branch. Rolfe’s eyes widened. “Are you sure this is the best time to go tree climbing, love?” he protested as he glanced upwards. The sky directly over them was still clear and blue.

“The forest is too dense,” Pocahontas replied. “I’m going to see if the storm clouds are coming this way.” She disappeared into the upper foliage faster than a squirrel.

John Rolfe, impressed as always, cupped a hand to his mouth and called out to her, “Alright, Pocahontas, but be careful! Don’t you dare slip and hurt yourself!”

Pocahontas was in the oak less than a minute before she returned hurriedly to the ground. “The storm is coming this way fast. Help me set up the rain cover,” she decreed, stuffing a hand deep in her own rucksack. She pulled out a large folded hide and a bundle of twine. John Rolfe hopped to his feet and helped her unfold the hide. There were holes cut on the outer edges. “Tie that corner to that tree with the rope about five feet off the ground. I’ll tie the opposite side to this one,” Pocahontas instructed, pointing. “We need to stretch it tight.”

Once they bound the first two opposite corners of the hide to trees, Pocahontas found a hide loop that had been sewn to the top center of the rain cover. She tied a big pine cone to the end of some twine and flung it over a tall sturdy branch over the campfire. She tossed the pinecone aside and tied the twine to the central hide loop, stretching it upwards by pulling on the other end of the twine. She tied the end to a tree. They were almost done setting up the rain cover when John Rolfe noticed dark clouds descending over the forest canopy. The rain was a light drizzle at first. Pocahontas and Rolfe hurriedly secured the last two corners of the hide to nearby trees and rechecked their previous bindings. “Won’t this setup be vulnerable to wind?” Rolfe inquired.

“Not in a dense forest like this. The trees provide protection from the wind,” Pocahontas pointed out. She and John Rolfe hid under the rain cover as the first heavy droplets started to fall from the sky. Some of the fire’s smoke collected in the underside of the cover but it was above their heads as long as they remained seated. Pocahontas glanced over to the pile of logs Rolfe had collected. “It’s a good thing you collected so much firewood. Everything in the forest will be drenched after this storm,” she remarked. “I hope Siwili is alright.”

“Hopefully he’ll be back before this gets too bad,” John Rolfe replied, pulling a blanket from his pack. He sat cross-legged near the fire and wrapped it around his shoulders. Ka-Okee and Percy were huddled together, the fawn trembling as the sky grew dark and gray.

“I certainly hope so,” Pocahontas agreed, getting herself comfortable.

Ka-Okee did not truly flip out until a loud clap of thunder struck overhead. Bleating loudly, she dove into Rolfe’s lap and buried her head in his groin. The Englishman jumped in startlement and pain. “Oof! Ow! Ka,” he chided. She was shaking like a leaf. Rolfe sighed loudly and wrapped the blanket around the both of them, creating a sort of dark protective cave for the frightened fawn. Percy whined, not much more confident about the storm than Ka-Okee was. “You can come over here if you want, Percy,” Rolfe offered, lifting the edge of the blanket to make a welcoming entrance. The pug quickly scurried over and hid under the hide too.

…

Siwili had been in the middle of gutting and skinning a hog when the first thunder struck in the distance. He quickly finished what he was doing and hurried back to camp with the carcass over his shoulder, worried that he had strayed too far during his hunt. The warrior was unsure if he would get there in time to help the others prepare for the rain. His worst fears were realized when it started pouring on him when he was only halfway there. By the time he reached camp, it was impossible for him to see five feet in front of his face. Fortunately he found the others had figured out how to set up the rain cover in his absence. He quickly crawled underneath it, happy to find the fire going strong. It was a bit crowded but the ground was dry and that made it cozy. “Siwili!” John Rolfe declared when he caught sight of the brave. “Thank goodness!”

“Look, he caught something,” Pocahontas noted.

Siwili quickly got to work butchering the hog, slicing thin enough pieces of meat to make it easier to cook over the fire. “It looks like we’re having bacon today,” Rolfe remarked.

After shooting a quick glance at the others, Siwili completely stopped what he was doing and gazed around with a worried look on his face. “Sigué to ra Ka-Okee en Percy?” he uttered. John Rolfe understood the question from mere context and he opened up his blanket, revealing the quivering fawn and pug curled up together in his lap. A look of relief passed over Siwili’s face and he nodded his head. “Siba, loto ra din oyoso soté,” he said just as a clap of thunder deafened the group. Both Percy and Ka-Okee jolted and Rolfe quickly covered them up again.

Pocahontas finished up the blackberries in the pot and held it out beneath the rainfall to clean it out. She poured it out, filled it up again, and placed it on the ground next to her where she started cutting up yams and dropping them in the water. “Are we going to be having a pork and yam stew?” John Rolfe inquired, watching her from his side of the fire. He kept the blanket wrapped tightly around the animals as he reached an arm out and took a stick to poke at the fire.

“Among other things, I’m sure. It looks like Siwili intends to roast some of the meat directly over the flames,” Pocahontas replied, watching curiously as Siwili made multiple cuts of meat on a flat stone. He took slices from the pork belly, back, and rump. Pocahontas put the pot of yams over the fire to boil and added more sticks around it. Meanwhile Siwili impaled several strips of pork onto thin sticks after hardening the tips over the fire. He suspended the rest of the carcass from the hide loop under the rain cover and raised it up to smoke over the fire.

John Rolfe yawned as he was handed a stick with a thin piece of raw pork. He held it over the fire to cook and let the juices drip into the pot. Pocahontas and Siwili both did the same. “Thank you, Siwili,” Rolfe uttered in appreciation. As the meat started to sizzle, Meeko perked up and looked to the fire. He started sniffing around. Percy whined from beneath John Rolfe’s blanket. Ka-Okee curiously poked her head out to see what the others were up to but she quickly hid it again with another thunderclap. “I wonder how long it’s going to storm.”

“The clouds seem very heavy. I’m guessing it won’t let up for at least a few hours,” Pocahontas indicated, turning her stick over to cook the other side of the meat. Slowly but surely the water in the pot began to boil. Thirty minutes later, the yams were getting soft. Pocahontas cut up pieces of raw pork and dropped them in with the yams to cook. By the time the group was done eating, the stew was all gone but there was plenty of leftover pork. Siwili cooked the leftovers and set them aside as the rain continued to pour from the sky in torrents.

John Rolfe yawned and curled up on top of his bedroll with Ka-Okee and Percy, using the extra blanket as cover. Pocahontas used the rain to wash the dishes and then went to sleep in her own bedroll with Meeko and Flit. Siwili tended the fire, waiting until he had dried off completely before retiring. The rain continued to pour for the whole rest of the day and half the night.

…

At one point Rolfe awoke to streams of water flowing around their hillock. It was good they had set up camp on high ground or they would have been flooded. While the rain prevented the group from continuing the journey, it also provided them a longer rest. They had been pushing hard in the past few days to keep far ahead of the pirates. With any luck, Flame’s crew would also have had the good sense to seek shelter from the bad weather.

The rain stopped just past midnight. Siwili and John Rolfe shook the rain cover off and took it down once the sky was clear and full of stars. The ground surrounding the hillock was nothing but puddles and mud. Once the group was packed up, they realized that all the animals would have to be carried. The mud was too thick and only Siwili, Rolfe, and Pocahontas wore an appropriate pair of boots. Rolfe carried Ka-Okee and Pocahontas carried Percy. Meeko preferred to stick to the trees as long as he could rather than have to rely on his human companions for transportation. He had always prided himself on being a very independent raccoon.

They trudged through the mud the rest of the night, traveling north along the western side of the tributary until the sun rose in the east. The group only made a brief breakfast stop in the mid-morning. There was so much boar meat left that Siwili did not need to hunt at all. They ate quickly and continued their journey, straying slightly westward away from the tributary. As they traveled, the elevation of the land seemed to tilt upward gradually. Eventually they reached a sharp incline that ended in a tall bluff overlooking a beautiful autumnal valley. Majestic purple mountains skirted the cloudless blue horizon beyond the forest composed of yellow, orange, red, and golden hues. The sparkling river they had been following meandered endlessly through the valley, disappearing up into the tall distant mountains. Pocahontas and John Rolfe had to stop and admire the breathtaking scenery. “It’s beautiful!” Pocahontas declared.

John Rolfe lamented, “Of all times to be caught without paints and canvas.”

“You’ll just have to remember it so you can paint it later,” Pocahontas replied. She shuffled her feet around on the ground, feeling the earth had firmed up a good deal since the storm. “I think we can put Percy and Ka-Okee down now. It’s not muddy up here. Not so sure about down in the valley though,” she remarked, placing the pug on the grass. Percy sniffed around.

John Rolfe smiled and put Ka-Okee down too. The fawn was all too happy to start prancing around on her own four feet again. Rolfe noticed Siwili taking off his rucksack and plopping down in the grass at the edge of the bluff. The Englishman looked up to see the sun high in the sky and he felt his stomach rumble. It was time for lunch. “Siwili’s got the right idea,” Rolfe remarked, copying the warrior’s actions. Pocahontas did the same as Siwili took out the rest of the smoked boar meat from his pack. He passed it out to Pocahontas, John Rolfe, Meeko, and Percy. Flit and Ka-Okee started playing a game wherein Flit sucked a flower dry of nectar before the fawn chomped down on it. Ka-Okee also enjoyed the tender grasses on the bluff.

There was no boar meat left by the time lunch was over. Siwili, Pocahontas, and John Rolfe gathered up their travel packs again. Rolfe gazed over the bluff, nervous about the height. “How do we get down there?” he wondered aloud. “It’s much too steep right here.”

“I’m sure Siwili will know the way,” Pocahontas chimed.

Indeed the warrior directed them down the western side of the bluff. It was a long way around but they continued to descend until they reached the edge of the valley forest. Siwili lead them right back to the bank of the river they had been following previously to refill their water supply. In the late evening, they came upon blackberry bushes and decided to make camp there for the night. John Rolfe and Percy collected firewood and built the fire. Pocahontas and Meeko collected acorns, yams, chickweed, and wild onions. Meanwhile Siwili caught a three-and-a-half foot sturgeon in the river. It was more than big enough to feed everyone.

Pocahontas, John Rolfe, Siwili, Percy, and Meeko ate most of the sturgeon for dinner that night and saved the rest to make an acorn-fish stew for breakfast the next morning with all of Pocahontas’s gatherings. It took another day and a half for the group to reach the valley’s end. It was early evening by the time they found themselves at the base of a tall mountain. A series of enormous waterfalls followed the river down from the mountains into the valley. Rolfe looked up at the steep incline ahead and swallowed a lump in his throat. Mountains were one of the many things he had been dreading about the journey. Fortunately for him, Siwili started to make camp for the night at the base of the mountain. They would begin their ascent in the morning light.

After a lovely fish dinner, Pocahontas and John Rolfe strayed off to the river to take baths. Pocahontas chose an area just around a bend in the river. Rolfe stayed near the falls. Percy decided to accompany Rolfe on his hygienic expedition while Meeko and Flit remained at the campsite to snooze. The river below the falls was misty, private, and very noisy—a combination of traits that Rolfe favored. The background noise in particular was useful because he could sing as loudly and obnoxiously as he wanted without bothering anyone.

John Rolfe reached the water’s edge and quickly began to disrobe, kicking his boots and socks onto the ground by the trunk of a tree. Percy was busy paw-testing the water when Rolfe pulled off his buckskin shirt and hung it from a low branch. He removed and hung up his trousers as well. The Englishman was about to do the same with his knickers when he suddenly thought he heard a sound over the falls. He froze and put a hand to his ear. Percy on the other hand started barking at the top of his lungs and ran off through the cattails, heading downriver. _“John Rolfe!”_ came the faint voice again, striking a chord of fear in Rolfe’s heart.

It had to be Pocahontas calling out for help. The Englishman dashed off at full speed through the cattails, following Percy in quick pursuit. “Pocahontas!” Rolfe cried as he sprinted through the reeds and down the muddy bank. As the noise from the falls faded behind him, a loud and distinctly feminine scream became crystal clear to his ears. “POCAHONTAS!” Rolfe shrieked, spurring himself on faster. He ran through a line of bushes and trees, heading to his left around a bend in the river. When he emerged from the shrubbery on top of a five-foot bluff overlooking the water, what he saw both terrified and enraged him.

A mohawked man of lean and well-defined muscle was dragging Pocahontas in the shallows by her wrist. Though pantless and shoeless, the young woman fortunately still had her buckskin dress on as she thrashed and tried to pull away. From what John Rolfe could see in the bright moonlight, the would-be kidnapper had intentionally deformed and beaded ears. It was the most bizarre look the Englishman had ever seen, giving the warrior a frightful appearance. “JOHN ROLFE! SIWILI! HELP ME!” Pocahontas squealed at the top of her lungs.

John Rolfe watched in horror as Pocahontas tried to bend down and pick a rock up from the riverbed to hit her assailant with. The man yanked her toward him and knocked it out of her hand before she got the chance, causing her to stumble and fall into the water. Fortunately that failed move gave the angered Englishman an idea. He glanced around his feet and found a big rock about twice the size of his fist. He picked it up, watching as the warrior pulled Pocahontas out of the water and over one of his shoulders. Rolfe saw red when Pocahontas started kicking and shrieking even louder than before as she was haplessly carried off. The Brit would have aimed for the brute’s head but it was too close to Pocahontas and he did not want to risk hitting her.

Instead John Rolfe took careful aim and threw the stone with all his might, nailing the warrior in the back of the knee. “THAT’S MY POCAHONTAS, NOT YOURS!” he howled madly. “MINE!” It was like the man’s legs had been kicked out from under him. He yelled in pain as both assailant and captive toppled over into the water with a big splash. Rolfe worried that Pocahontas might have hit her head on a stone beneath the surface. Fortunately she emerged not but a few seconds later, scrambling to get away from the warrior. He made to grab at her but she was too quick, leaping through the water like a graceful doe and up the riverbank.

John Rolfe ran to meet her in the forest just beyond the bank of the river. They nearly collided with each other atop a hillock. “John!” Pocahontas gasped. He pulled her behind him without a moment’s hesitation as the warrior emerged from the tall grasses, facing both of them down. “He’s crazy! He must be an enemy of Siwili’s tribe!” Pocahontas exclaimed.

The enraged warrior stopped dead in his tracks at the bizarre sight of the half-clothed white man, looking John Rolfe up and down with a mixed expression of anger and perplexity. Though the man was armed and Rolfe was not, the Englishman did not so much as flinch from the warrior’s dark glare. Percy suddenly emerged from a thicket barking his head off and planted himself between the stranger and the young couple. The pug growled sharply at the man to ward him off. The warrior paid the small dog no mind as he focused his intent gaze on Rolfe. “Pocahontas,” Rolfe spoke, not breaking eye contact with the warrior, “run and get Siwili. Now!”

Pocahontas turned on a heel and ran off without a moment’s hesitation. “Be careful, John!”

The warrior did not blink an eye at her disappearance, having mostly lost interest in her when the strange foreigner appeared. The man took a step forward and John Rolfe took a step back. “Go on! Leave us alone!” Rolfe shouted at him, brandishing a fist. “Go away!” The warrior was not intimidated. Quite the opposite in fact, he stepped forward again as a mischievous grin appeared on his face. He seemed to be testing his opponent’s confidence. Rolfe responded with another step backwards. When the warrior stepped forth again, Percy was barking at the top of his lungs and backing away himself. Rolfe swallowed a lump in his throat. “Percy, run!” he cried, turning to dash back the way he had come. The man immediately gave chase.

It was John Rolfe’s shoelessness that turned out to be his undoing. He had not run but ten yards before a sharp stone jabbed the tender sole of his left foot, causing the Englishman to cry out and tumble to the ground. The warrior was on him in an instant. Though Rolfe had been expecting instantaneous death, the stranger seemed more interested in capturing him instead. He pulled the pale man’s wrists behind him and pinned them to the small of his back. Rolfe started kicking and squirming energetically. “Get off of me, you pillock! Get off!” he screamed.

The warrior released John Rolfe’s wrists and shrieked in pain when Percy buried his canine teeth deep into the man’s left calf. The assailant tried to take a tomahawk to the pug’s head but Rolfe snatched up a large stone and blocked the strike in time. Percy yelped loudly and stumbled backwards into some thorny thickets. The pinned Englishman pivoted his torso and tried to smash the warrior’s teeth out with the rock but he was quickly caught by the wrist and relieved of his one and only weapon. He thrashed against the warrior’s superior strength as the man held him down and firmly tied his hands behind his back to prevent his escape.

John Rolfe’s assailant yanked him up to his feet and shoved him in the direction of the river. Rolfe fell to his knees, refusing to comply. The warrior was forced to drag him and then carry him—which was not easy as Rolfe had the size and strength to put up an even bigger fight than Pocahontas. A sudden swoosh made the warrior shriek at the top of his lungs and fall to his knees. When Rolfe looked down, he saw an arrow embedded in the back of the man’s thigh.

A familiar war cry emanated from the woods and Siwili appeared in a rush. When John Rolfe’s feet found their way to the ground, he kicked the foreign warrior in the gut but ended up getting tripped. Despite his arms being tied back, Rolfe tried to scramble away as Siwili descended upon his rival with a tomahawk. The injured stranger turned to Siwili and drew a knife, preparing to fight. “A suta kai!” shouted the stranger. Siwili stopped dead in his tracks and stared at the man with wide eyes. There was a brief silence. “Gunago?” the stranger uttered in recognition.

John Rolfe glanced from Siwili to the stranger and back again, raising a brow. Siwili’s breathing appeared to speed up. The surprise on his face fell to a look of rage. “Akino?” he hissed. “Sutigo ibua lanka lo sek duta!” The Gunalo quickly approached Rolfe and pulled him to his feet with one hand, keeping an eye on the enemy the whole time. Rolfe began to wonder how they knew each other while Siwili used a knife to sever the ropes binding the Englishman’s hands. Rolfe rubbed his freed wrists and glanced back at his would-be assailant. Suddenly he felt Siwili push him in the direction of the camp. The diplomat was not about to question an angry warrior, whether friend or foe, and quickly scampered off to duck behind some tall shrubbery.

“Ava diglong to rito, Gunago!” the stranger countered. John Rolfe had no idea whether or not they were even speaking Siwili’s language. He did not recognize any of the words.

When John Rolfe glanced to the trees behind them, he noticed Pocahontas, Meeko, Percy, and Ka-Okee peeking out from behind a large pine. He snuck over to them. “Pocahontas!”

“Are you alright, John?” Pocahontas cried, embracing him. It was when Rolfe felt Pocahontas’s hands on his own bare skin that he realized he was still in his knickers. He yelped and jumped back, hiding partly behind a bush. Pocahontas raised a brow. “What’s wrong?”

John Rolfe looked flustered. “M-my clothes! I must go find them. Don’t look at me!” He turned and ran off into the forest trying to cover his bare chest. Pocahontas rolled her eyes at Rolfe’s untimely modesty but turned back to the scene playing out on the riverbank. The wounded man rose shakily to his feet, leaning heavily on a tree. He and Siwili continued to shout at each other. It was not a language that Pocahontas recognized but it was clear that somehow the two men had been previously acquainted. Finally after a frenzied argument, the wounded warrior pointed furiously to Siwili and growled something dangerously at him. He then turned and limped off, letting loose a high-pitched yell as if calling others to his aid.

Siwili turned on a heel and ran over to Pocahontas. He took her by the arm and herded the animals along at a fast pace. “Hurry, we must get out of here right now!” he insisted.

“This way! I left my pants and boots by the riverbank,” Pocahontas replied as she sprinted alongside him, ushering him toward the river. They reached the spot in no time and Pocahontas got dressed before following Siwili back to camp. “Who was that awful man?”

“A Duale scout. They travel in threes,” Siwili indicated. “I am sorry about this, Pocahontas. I honestly was not expecting them to be this far west but it looks like they’re planning to expand their territory further into Chicachok lands. If we travel up the mountain, they will not follow. Their foolish legends indicate a monster resides up there.” Pocahontas raised a brow which Siwili did not fail to notice. “I’ll tell you more later, I promise. For now, we need to get moving before that warrior’s backups arrive. There’s no telling how far off they might be.”

When they made it back to camp, John Rolfe was nowhere to be seen. Fortunately he made a fully-dressed appearance half a minute later. He ran onto the scene straightening out his clothes and quickly tied his hair back. “We’re leaving?” he quickly inquired.

“Yes,” Pocahontas replied as she hurriedly packed her things. “We must go up the mountain.”

John Rolfe froze, gulping. “I-in the dark?” Without even looking at him, Pocahontas nodded. Rolfe started to sweat terribly. “Oh dear…” he uttered.

“Pack your things, John,” Pocahontas instructed.

Once the group was packed up, a couple of war cries sounded in the distance and appeared to be getting closer. Pocahontas and John Rolfe stared out in their direction fearfully. “Pocahontas! Djahn!” Siwili called to them, gaining their attentions. He pointed to the mountain and quickly began to usher them toward it. The base of the mountain was fairly steep at a forty-five degree angle to level ground. In John Rolfe’s case at least it required him to crawl on hands and feet. The Englishman lead the way up the grassy incline, clinging to roots, rocks, and clumps of grass as he ascended. Ka-Okee had no trouble at all with the steepness and she was easily able to keep up with Rolfe. Percy followed behind the fawn and then Pocahontas and Meeko behind Percy.

Siwili stayed behind the others as a precaution. If anyone lost their footing and fell, he would be in place to catch them. The group had to travel this way for a quarter of a mile until some forest coverage came into view. Siwili had the group duck behind a large tree as he glanced back the way they had come. Two distant figures were inspecting the abandoned campsite where the fire was still burning bright. He saw one of them point toward the mountain. They followed the group’s footprints leading up to the base and then stopped and stared upwards in the dark.

Pocahontas peeked over Siwili’s shoulder. _“They’re at our camp,”_ she whispered to John Rolfe and the animals. _“They know which way we went. I’m just not sure if they’ll follow or not.”_

 _“I don’t see why they wouldn’t,”_ John Rolfe whispered back.

Pocahontas and Siwili gasped. “They’re coming! They’re climbing!” she announced.

Siwili quickly turned back to the group and ushered them up through the dark mountainous forest. There were massive rocky areas and vertical cliff faces. Siwili lead the others around them, keeping to the most gradual terrain available. The path was long and winding. Eventually they emerged from the forest onto a rocky area with small shrubs and grasses. There was much more moonlight available once they left the wooded area. The terrain up ahead was near vertical. John Rolfe could not help but look up at it and swallow a lump in his throat. Siwili lead them up to a ledge that made a narrow path winding westward around the mountain. _“Oh no! I don’t like this, I really really really don’t like this,”_ Rolfe uttered. It was a sheer drop over the ledge.

“Don’t look down, John,” Pocahontas told him, holding onto his rucksack. Ka-Okee immediately pranced up the narrow path, completely fearless. Meeko and Percy followed in her wake. Percy only looked a little bit nervous. John Rolfe took a deep breath. If the animals could do it, then he could as well. He clung tightly to the wall with both hands as he walked sideways along the path. “You don’t need to walk like that, John. The path isn’t _that_ narrow.”

John Rolfe shook his head. “I don’t plan on getting anywhere near the edge. It’s dark, steep, and extremely dangerous, Pocahontas!” he retorted, clinging to the rocks with a death grip.

“Well you have to go faster. We’re being followed, remember?” Pocahontas reminded him.

When Siwili observed John Rolfe’s phobia, he glanced upward and got an idea. Leaning over, he whispered into Pocahontas’s ear, “Go past him. If we hurry we can get up to that next ledge before the warriors arrive. I’ll throw a line down and pull John up. It’ll be much faster that way.”

Pocahontas glanced back and nodded her understanding. “Alright, John. You stay here,” she said,  inching past him. She spurred herself to a jog and then a fast climb when the path got steeper.

“P-Pocahontas, where are you going? You’re not going to leave me…?” John Rolfe paused when Siwili turned the Englishman to face him. The warrior undid Rolfe’s waist strap and pulled the man’s rucksack off. “Siwili, what are you doing?” Rolfe uttered. Siwili put a finger to his lips and put the rucksack down on the ground, pulling out a length of rope. He started to tie the rope in knots around Rolfe’s pelvis, looping it under his groin, and then he tied a length around his shoulders and torso. When he was done, there was a firm loop right in front of Rolfe’s chest.

When Siwili had finished, he took John Rolfe’s rucksack and inched past the Englishman on the ledge. He went after Pocahontas but not before glancing back at Rolfe and signaling for the diplomat to stay put. Then he pointed upward at the next ledge. Rolfe glanced up in puzzlement. When he looked back, Siwili was already gone. He waited nervously for nearly ten minutes without a clue as to what Siwili was planning. “Yoo-hoo, John!” Pocahontas called down to him, waving. She was up on the next ledge, having made it there in record time. She dropped a length of rope down to him. “Tie that to your harness, double knot it at the very least,” she instructed.

“Oh dear! You’re not really going to pull me up like this?” John Rolfe whimpered, dreading the thought of dangling haplessly over the side of a mountain. Regardless he took the rope and tied it very securely around the loop in front of his chest, knotting it four times for good measure. When Siwili caught up with Pocahontas, he wasted no time in grabbing the rope from her. He yanked without warning, causing Rolfe to cry out in startlement as he was torn away from the firm rocks he had been clinging to. The Englishman started kicking and flailing wildly in midair.

John Rolfe weighed very little by Siwili’s standards. The warrior pulled him up in record time. “Sorry for the lack of a warning, John,” Pocahontas said. “But those enemy warriors had almost reached you.” She glanced down again. The Duale scouts were standing exactly where Rolfe had been. She stuck her tongue out at them as she helped Siwili pull Rolfe over the ledge.

The new path was twice as wide but John Rolfe still hyperventilated as he cowered against the wall. Ka-Okee came over and licked him on the cheek as he was still reeling from the very sudden ascent. Siwili packed away the extra rope but left the diplomat in his rope harness. He transferred some of the heavier items from Rolfe’s rucksack to his own and then handed the lighter rucksack to Pocahontas. “Carry this,” he instructed, trying to pick up the collapsed Englishman. The warrior had to peel Rolfe off the rock wall like a terrified cat clinging to the bark of a tree after a dog chase. Rolfe’s only protest was a loud yelp before he turned his death-like grip onto Siwili himself, nearly strangling the warrior in the process.

Pocahontas carried John Rolfe’s travel pack in her arms as she raced along the trail, followed closely by the others. The trail wound upward for about thirty minutes. Pocahontas stopped and gasped when they reached a dead end. It was a vertical rock wall. She dropped Rolfe’s rucksack, trying to catch her breath, as Siwili and the others caught up. The warrior placed Rolfe down on his feet and gently pried the Englishman’s hands off his own body. Rolfe collapsed to the ground with shaky knees, transferring his death grip to the impassible rock wall.

Siwili dropped his own rucksack and signaled for Pocahontas to do the same. It was about a hundred feet up the vertical wall. Once they got that far, they would be halfway up the mountain. The warrior tied the three rucksacks together with a long rope and took the other end in his own teeth, climbing up the treacherous height. Meeko and Flit quickly followed him, wanting to see what was over the cliff. _“Bless my soul, that looks terrifying,”_ John Rolfe whispered.

When Siwili reached the top, he pulled the packs up. A minute later, he lowered the rain cover with the four corners tied together. “Ka-Okee en Percy!” he called down. Pocahontas put the aforementioned animals into the bundle and Siwili pulled them up. Again he lowered the length of rope. “Djahn!” Siwili called to them. Pocahontas tied the rope to Rolfe’s harness.

“Oh no, not this again!” John Rolfe cried, not looking forward to the ascent in the least.

Suddenly they heard voices from not far behind. The enemy warriors had made it around the ridge and were heading straight for them. “Grab onto John!” Siwili called to Pocahontas.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Pocahontas leaped onto John Rolfe. She wrapped her strong legs around his slim waist and her arms around his shoulders. Rolfe’s face immediately went crimson. “Pocahontas! What are you…?” he began, only to be interrupted by his own yelp when Siwili began to haul the young couple up the steep rock face. Rolfe clung for dear life to Pocahontas. By the time the Duale scouts caught up, they were out of reach. Pocahontas made a rude face at them and stuck her tongue out once more, provoking looks of anger from the two men. Rolfe was more preoccupied by his amazement at Siwili’s incredible feat. “Great Caesar’s ghost, he’s strong! How can he just—” he tapered off, glancing down at the ground when he heard the men’s voices. Instant vertigo. “I think I’m going to be sick…” Rolfe murmured.

“I told you not to look down, John!” Pocahontas scolded. “Don’t get sick on me.”

John Rolfe took a couple deep breaths. Fortunately it was not long before they reached the top and Siwili pulled them up and over the edge. The ground was relatively flat and grassy and there were trees and bushes nearby with wild mountain berries. Pocahontas turned back and glanced over the cliff. The Duale warriors were just standing there looking up at them. The taller one called up to Siwili, “Gunago, sivla adeksira lavaro un Obredast lussess ulkimo!”

Siwili snorted. “Yuk no hamenhudek un Obredast! Fah! Sovredesou loriko unest!”

The two men shook their heads and turned around, heading back the way they had come. The slightly shorter one stopped and glanced back. “Suve octuvres virviric es bizo unebaba gusek, ubelotato vivaso ribata y gus y gusek vala brivekto!” he called. Then they turned and left.

Pocahontas wiped the sweat from her forehead. “Thank goodness! They’re leaving.” She turned to the hummingbird. “Can you keep a lookout for a bit just to make sure they don’t come back, Flit?” she asked. “You can never be overly cautious with men like those.”

Flit nodded and perched himself on a twig protruding from the rock wall they had just ascended. Siwili glanced off into the trees behind them. “We will make camp here for the night,” he said decisively, noticing that John Rolfe had wandered off. “Where did John go?”

Pocahontas glanced around. “Probably to pee or something. I’m sure he’ll be right back.”

John Rolfe reappeared a couple minutes later looking like hell. Pocahontas got worried when she saw him, noticing his downcast eyes. His face appeared red in the moonlight and he had his hands in his pockets as he trudged over to them. “John, are you alright?” Pocahontas inquired, running over to him. She placed a hand on his forehead. “Did you get sick?”

Rolfe shook his head, not meeting her eye. “No, I’m fine,” he said, gently removing her hand. It was a bald-faced lie and Pocahontas knew it but she did not want to aggravate him any.

Pocahontas sighed and rubbed her shoulder. “Siwili wants us to camp here. The men left.”

John Rolfe’s eyes snapped up, a euphoric look on his face in response to the news. “Sakes alive! Are you serious? We don’t have to climb anymore tonight?” he exclaimed.

“That’s right,” Pocahontas replied, smiling.

John Rolfe wanted to jump for joy but he kept a dignified demeanor, clearing his throat. “Excellent. I’ll go collect the firewood!” he announced cheerfully, turning to go back into the woods. Siwili stopped him and pointed to the rope harness he was still wearing. “Oh yes, I should take this off…” Rolfe agreed bashfully. The warrior helped him untie himself and then put away the rope as the Englishman went to gather logs for the fire.

When John Rolfe was gone, Pocahontas and Siwili sat with the animals on the ground and started clearing a spot for a fire pit. They made a circle with flat rocks. “Siwili,” Pocahontas began, “what were you and the Duale saying to each other just back there?”

Again Siwili snorted. “They said that if we climb any higher, the Obredast will get us. I told them there’s no such thing and then I told them to get lost. They said they’d be guarding the bottom of the mountain in case we try to come back down. Don’t worry about that. We’re going over the mountain anyway,” he expressed. “We won’t be encountering those men again.”

Pocahontas, Ka-Okee, Meeko, and Percy all exchanged glances and gulped. “Obredast?” Pocahontas repeated. “That sounds terrifying…”

“It’s a monster of Duale legend. But don’t worry. I’ve traveled over this mountain before and never did I encounter any such creature as the tales describe,” Siwili explained. “Not even a scrap of evidence as to its existence. As far as I’m concerned, it is ridiculous fear mongering by the Duale to prevent kidnapped women and children from trying to flee to the mountains.”

Pocahontas nodded, not wanting to hear the full story. She decided to change the subject. “How come you did not kill that first Duale? The one you shot with the arrow?” she inquired. A look of pain flashed across Siwili’s face and Pocahontas bit her lip. “Do… you know him personally?”

Siwili nodded. “He… is my younger brother,” he admitted, rubbing his forehead with the palm of his hand. Pocahontas gasped, taken aback at the news. “It’s a sad story. We are both originally of the Gunalo tribe. Remember how I told you the Duale sometimes raid our villages to steal women and children? My brother Akino and I were two of those children.” Pocahontas had a horrified look on her face as Siwili continued, “Long story short, we were taken during a raid when I was seven and he was five. It was an eight year-long nightmare. I was separated from my brother, taken to a different village. I spent years under the brutal Duale training regimen, resolving to escape when I was ready. That time came when I turned fifteen. It was a week before my coming-of-age. If I had stayed for the ceremony, my ears would have been split like my brother’s and I would have been unable to return to the Gunalo. I fled and sought Akino out, eventually finding him in one of the southern villages. It was too late. He was brainwashed into their ways. He even called the warriors to come capture me. I only barely escaped with my life. It was to this mountain that I fled, knowing I would not be followed. After that I found a Chicachok village and got directions from there that lead me back home to Comosamico.”

“I’m so sorry,” Pocahontas uttered. “The horrors you must’ve gone through those eight years! And I can’t imagine what it’d be like to be betrayed by such a close family member.”

“We were very close indeed,” Siwili confirmed. “Childhood playmates. When we were young, we told each other secrets that we would tell no one else. What could have happened to Akino in those eight years to make him betray his family of birth, I haven’t a clue. But now you know why I could not kill him. I would rather not continue to discuss the matter. It is a sad history.”

Suddenly both heard a twig crack and John Rolfe appeared from the trees carrying a huge pile of dry wood. He walked over and dumped it near the fire pit. Then he plopped down on the ground, stressed and tired. “Are you okay, John?” Pocahontas inquired, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Ka-Okee walked over to cuddle at John Rolfe’s side. “I suppose,” Rolfe replied half-heartedly, placing a hand on the fawn’s head. He was silent for a few moments before reaching into his pack to get out his bow drill and other fire starting materials. Meanwhile Siwili reached into his own pack and pulled out the medicinal root he had used previously to help Rolfe sleep. The warrior handed it to the Englishman and signaled him to put it in his mouth, hoping it would relieve some of Rolfe’s anxiety. The fatigued diplomat complied without argument. “I don’t like being this high up,” he admitted with the root in his cheek. Siwili took over the fire starting endeavor so Rolfe could relax. “Oh… thank you, Siwili,” he uttered, sighing. “Anyway I’m going to pretend we’re at ground level for the sake of my sanity.”


	19. Fond Farewells and Springs and Things

****John Rolfe woke up the next morning feeling lousy. Siwili had disappeared into the wooded area when Pocahontas noticed the Englishman’s downtrodden demeanor. She got out of her bedroll and scooted over to him as he tried to revive the fire from the previous night. Buried under the ash, some of the embers were still glowing. Ka-Okee was grazing on the grass nearby. Meeko, Percy, and Flit were all still asleep. Pocahontas placed a hand on Rolfe’s shoulder, giving him a bit of a start. “What’s wrong, John?” she inquired, causing him to glance at her.

John Rolfe’s face was slightly red and it only got redder when Pocahontas addressed him. He sat back as a small flame caught the kindling and added a few small sticks to the growing fire. The Englishman was hesitant to reply at first. Once the fire was burning bright, he sighed and buried his face in his hands. “Pocahontas, I’m so sorry about last night,” he mumbled into his palms. “Please forgive me. There’s no excuse for how I acted.”

Pocahontas raised a brow. “Huh? Why? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I was completely useless!” John Rolfe exclaimed, throwing his hands up in an exaggerated manner. “I literally had to be carried up the mountain like, like… like an _infant_! And I only slowed everyone down and nearly got us all caught by those stupid warriors. Good grief, I can’t even begin to imagine what Siwili thinks of me right now!”

Pocahontas drew her brows together and shook her head. “John, you’re blowing this totally out of proportion. Siwili thinks highly of you because you risked your life to keep his people safe. It was a very brave and selfless thing to do. Besides, did he give you any indication last night that he looked down upon you for being afraid of heights? Did he mock you in any way?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean…”

“It is a perfectly rational fear,” Pocahontas continued, interrupting.

John Rolfe huffed. “If it’s so rational, then why aren’t you afraid of it?”

“I am a little bit but I love climbing so much that I overcome it,” Pocahontas replied. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. Tell me. What is this fear rooted in, John? Have you always been afraid of heights or did it begin at a certain age?” she inquired, curious to know more.

John Rolfe rubbed his hands together before the fire. “It started when I was seven. When I was very young, I liked heights a little _too_ much. As a result, I broke my leg falling out of a tree. It was the worst pain I’ve ever felt when the doctor had to reset the bone. Ever since, I haven’t wanted to risk another injury like that. I get nervous if I’m more than six feet above ground.”

“Well that makes perfect sense,” Pocahontas returned. “The worst injury I ever got from a fall was a twisted ankle a few years ago. I was climbing down the wall of a gorge and some rocks came loose. After that, I was nervous about climbing for a while.”

John Rolfe wanted to bang his head against a tree. “The key phrase there is ‘for a while,’ not ‘for twenty-one years straight.’ That’s an enormous difference!” he protested.

“Well we’re going to have to climb today. Now that we’re not being chased, I’ll just caution you to take things slow,” Pocahontas advised, using a stick to poke at the small fire.

“I’m absolutely dreading it,” John Rolfe readily admitted.

Pocahontas gave him a pat on the bicep. “We’ll take the safest paths available even if they take longer, okay?” Once again Rolfe buried his head in his hands and nodded slowly.

Siwili emerged from the woods carrying three skinned and gutted jackrabbits in one hand. John Rolfe looked up in surprise, raising a brow. “There’s game up here?”

“Of course,” Pocahontas replied as Siwili walked over and plopped down on the other side of the fire. He used long stripped sticks as spits to prepare the animals to be roasted over the fire. “Lots of critters live in the mountains. We should have no trouble finding things to eat up here, John. Siwili must have found himself a bunny burrow in the woods over there.”

Meeko, Percy, and Flit awoke to the smell of sizzling meat. Flit buzzed off to find wildflowers near Ka-Okee but he ended up getting sneezed on and riding the whirlwind created by the fawn’s nose into a bush. Pocahontas laughed as she roasted her rabbit over the fire. John Rolfe handed his spit to Pocahontas and jumped up to his feet. “I’m going to get more firewood so the food will cook faster,” he chimed. “I’ll be right back. Don’t let Meeko eat my rabbit.”

Pocahontas nodded as John Rolfe disappeared into the trees. She turned to Siwili. “He’s not looking forward to climbing today. How much more treacherous does the path get?”

“We will have to scale some more vertical walls until we reach the peak of the mountain. The far side is more gradual though. Don’t worry. I don’t intend to send either of you off alone until we’re out of the mountains completely and far past Duale territory. Should take about two more days if we move slow and one and a half if we move fast,” Siwili confirmed.

Pocahontas lightly nipped her lower lip. “We’re probably going to have to move slow for John’s sake. He broke his leg falling out of a tree when he was a child and now he gets nervous when he’s more than six feet above the ground,” she explained, turning both spits with her fingers.

“That reminds me of Awenasa before we were married,” Siwili chimed.

Pocahontas glanced up at him. “Why does that remind you of Awenasa?”

“She was terrified of heights. I helped her overcome it by having her jump off of rocks into the water. We started at ground level and worked our way up to nearly fifty feet off above the water. You have to gradually desensitize John to the elevation. Be patient with him and he will recover from the childhood trauma,” Siwili explained. “I would save that endeavor for spring though. No time now, winter is coming. You must get home as soon as possible. We will travel through the mountains slowly for his sake. When we get out of the mountains, you two will travel east and slightly north together until you reach the coast again. Then continue north along the coast until you reach home. There should be no more mountains from the point I drop you off at.”

Pocahontas smiled. “That is very wise, Siwili. And thank you.”

John Rolfe came back five minutes later with a bundle of sticks and a pocketful of acorns. He gave the acorns to Meeko and patted the raccoon on the head. “That’s for not eating my rabbit,” he said as he plopped down and added logs to the fire. He fanned the fire until the flames grew. The rabbit meat cooked much faster and soon Pocahontas, John Rolfe, Siwili, Meeko, and Percy were feasting on the kills. Meeko and Percy picked and licked the carcasses clean while the humans were packing up their supplies after the meal.

As the sun rose, they began their ascent again. The top of the mountain was a sharp peak that towered far above them. Siwili lead everyone on winding paths, most without too many sheer drops over the side. The terrain seemed a little more gradual at first but then the vertical walls appeared. John Rolfe had to blindfold himself as he was pulled up by the ropes. The higher they climbed, the colder the climate seemed to get. Fortunately the exertion of climbing the mountain kept them relatively warm and they did not need to put on their extra clothes.

Eventually the path turned into boulders that created enormous, steep ‘steps’ up the mountain.  “Oh my… How am I ever going to get up there?” John Rolfe murmured to himself. He was already on edge from having been dangled over vertical cliffs. At least Siwili’s rope harness made him feel safer. The warrior stopped the group at the bottom of the rocky stairwell and turned to face them. He motioned Pocahontas to climb up, offering her a hand.

Pocahontas dropped her pack to the ground and climbed up the first boulder which protruded into the air about six and a half feet high, followed by Meeko and Flit. She turned back and reached her arms out for Siwili to hand her the rucksack. Siwili tossed her pack up to her, followed by his own, and then John Rolfe’s. She set them aside and offered her arms again for Ka-Okee and then Percy. Next Siwili stood in front of the boulder, facing away, and pulled Rolfe toward him. He placed Rolfe’s hands on his own shoulders and then linked his fingers together to form a sling for the Englishman to step into. “Asuté mekana lo ra sapto, Djahn,” he uttered.

John Rolfe looked nervous. He stepped into Siwili’s hands and allowed the warrior to boost him up, trembling slightly even as he had a secure grip on the rocks. Pocahontas helped him pull himself over the edge. When he was on top of the boulder, he sat down by the rucksacks and waited for Siwili to climb up. The next boulder was higher, about ten feet. After Pocahontas got the animals and travel packs up, Siwili attached a rope to Rolfe’s harness. Fortunately for Rolfe, the warrior allowed him to climb and not dangle. He used the rope as extra insurance against a fall, keeping it taut the whole time. When Rolfe reached the top, he made the mistake of looking down. Siwili had to make him suck on the medicinal root after that to calm down again.

Up and up the group ascended, higher and higher on the face of the mountain. Taking things slowly, they finally reached the peak in the early afternoon and were able to peer down over the other side into the majestic misty and snow-peaked mountain range beyond. John Rolfe found the view both breathtaking and nauseating at the same time. When the group took a break from climbing at the peak, they started to feel cold. “It would be nice to stop for lunch but it’s so cold up here,” Pocahontas noted, wrapping her bare arms around her torso to warm up.

Siwili directed the group to a small cave. Being inside of it dramatically reduced wind chill. There were no trees for firewood nearby so Siwili, Pocahontas, and Rolfe mixed some of their water supply with powdered corn to make a meal, having nuts as a side dish. The cold corn porridge was bland but filling. They ate quickly and continued down the far side of the mountain. Traveling down a high mountain was even more nerve-wrecking to Rolfe because he was forced to face downward much of the time. Fortunately the steepness diminished when they made it a quarter mile below the peak. It took until sunset to get down to the high-elevation valley between the mountains. They found themselves in an alpine forest rife with wild mountain streams.

The temperature in the air was about forty degrees and falling as the sun descended. Siwili lead them to a spacious and beautiful cave with ancient paintings all over the walls. John Rolfe in particular was taken aback at the sight. Pocahontas, Rolfe, and Siwili put on their extra clothes and then the warrior left to hunt. Rolfe and Pocahontas bundled Ka-Okee and Percy up before venturing out of the cave to collect firewood, among other things. While they were out gathering, Rolfe came upon a steaming spring that was not far from the mouth of the cave. He called Pocahontas over and showed it to her. “Why is that water making so much mist?”

Pocahontas looked delighted the second she laid eyes on it. “Why, that’s a hot spring! We should go swimming tonight if it’s not too hot,” she declared, wandering over to the water’s edge to test the temperature. “The water is perfect! Not too hot or too cold.” Meeko promptly dove in with a big splash, dousing Flit with water. The hummingbird was not happy to say the least. He flew down and started squawking angrily at the raccoon the moment Meeko surfaced.

“It seems a little cold out to go swimming,” John Rolfe noted, ignoring the antics of the animals. “But if the water is warm… we better build a big fire in the cave to dry our clothes out.”

“Okay. Make sure you collect a ton of firewood then,” Pocahontas replied. “I’m going to gather a bunch of those wild mountain blueberries over there and I’ll help you bring in some firewood afterwards,” she indicated, pointing to the extensive berry bushes on the other side of the spring. They were all rife with thousands of big, fat, ripe, juicy blueberries.

John Rolfe’s eyes widened in awe. “Those look delicious!”

When Meeko laid eyes on the berry bushes, he hopped out of the hot spring onto the ground right between John Rolfe and Pocahontas. Then he vigorously shook the moisture from his coat, spraying both humans with water. “Meeko!” Pocahontas and Rolfe scolded in unison, annoyed. The raccoon hurried around the spring to find blueberry heaven waiting for him. Flit joined him.

Pocahontas and John Rolfe shook their heads and left to go about their respective chores. They reconvened in the cave where John Rolfe had accumulated a large pile of sticks and logs. He was sitting near Ka-Okee and Percy building a fire pit when Pocahontas arrived. She had a whole sackful of berries in her right hand and a bundle of dry sticks under her left arm. Meeko and Flit accompanied her. She dropped the bundle onto Rolfe’s pile of firewood and glanced over to Ka-Okee and Percy. The Powhatan woman covered them with another blanket and sat by Rolfe to help him get the fire started faster. By the time Siwili arrived with four dead passenger pigeons, the fire was burning bright and illuminating the paintings on the walls. Rolfe was busy trying to interpret some of them. “That one there looks like a big, hairy elephant. I didn’t think there were any elephants in the new world,” he remarked, scratching his chin in a thoughtful manner.

“There are tales that such things used to walk the land. But no more,” Pocahontas replied.

John Rolfe blinked. “Wow, really? I wonder what happened to them. Hello, Siwili!” he greeted.

The warrior plopped down on the other side of the fire and started preparing the birds to be roasted by impaling them on spits. Pocahontas showed Siwili the sack of blueberries and his eyes widened, impressed at the sheer size of the fruits. “Kavé lo nato sutra,” he uttered.

Before long, the scent of roasting meat pervaded the cavern. Meeko passed out by the fire after his blueberry binge, meaning Percy got a whole passenger pigeon to himself. Pocahontas, John Rolfe, and Siwili feasted on birds and berries until they were full and satisfied. Pocahontas was the first to throw off her boots and pants, running out of the cave toward the hot spring.

John Rolfe took off his shirt and followed her, keeping his boots on until he reached the water’s edge. There were too many pebbles and sharp stones for him to go barefoot all the way there. It rather perplexed him that such things did not seem to bother Pocahontas’s dainty little feet in the least though he refrained from pointing it out to her. He shivered in the cold as a chilly mountain wind blew, setting his boots, socks, and hair strap aside on a flat boulder near the water. The Englishman slowly waded his way into the hot spring. The water was very warm against his skin. He sighed and sank into the steamy water, allowing his muscles to loosen and relax.

Siwili was the third to show up, stripped to his breechcloth. Percy, Flit, and Ka-Okee had followed him in curiosity. The warrior jumped into the water from a boulder, making a big splash. Percy jumped in the same way whereas Ka-Okee waded in slowly and swam over to John Rolfe. He scratched her on the head and looked up at the stars through the trees. “This is really nice, Pocahontas. I’ve never done anything like this before,” he remarked, dipping his head below the surface to wet his hair thoroughly. Pocahontas giggled as she swam around in circles. It was getting colder outside and there was a pleasantly crisp scent of frost in the air. On one side of the spring, there were numerous night blooms that had yet to freeze by the water’s edge. Ka-Okee swam over to them and feasted on them from the water. Pocahontas swam to John Rolfe and tried to climb up on his shoulders. “What are you doing, love?” Rolfe protested, squirming.

“Climbing on you,” Pocahontas replied.

John Rolfe tried to reach back and tickle her to keep her off of him. “Do I look like some kind of tree to you?” he bellyached as he continued his counter-assault.

Pocahontas jumped on him again, resisting the tickling. “Yes, you look like a small birch tree.”

“You shouldn’t climb small trees!” John Rolfe indignantly replied, redoubling his efforts. She ended up retaliating with her fingers to his belly so he drew back. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry!” He tried to swim away from her and they ended up swimming circles around Siwili. They fooled around for ten minutes. Then the warrior called to them to get their attention. He pointed up as big snowflakes began to fall gradually from the sky, fluttering around them like feathers on a breeze. The once-clear heavens had clouded over completely, not a star to be seen.

“Snow!” Pocahontas proclaimed. The big flakes melted the moment they hit the water. The Powhatan woman tried to catch a few on her tongue but John Rolfe mischievously took the opportunity to splash her in the face when her mouth was wide open. She sputtered out water and he laughed at her before getting splashed himself. “I’ll get you for that!” Pocahontas warned.

The chase resumed until Pocahontas got tired of trying to catch John Rolfe. Instead she called to him, “John, I dare you to roll around in that puddle of ice-cold mud over there!”

John Rolfe shot a glance over at the aforementioned pile of dark brown mud. He brought a hand to his chin and rubbed it thoughtfully, trying to decide whether or not to accept the challenge. Then a wicked idea occurred to him. “Very well, Pocahontas. I’ll do it since you’re obviously too afraid to,” he pompously conceded, wading out of the water. He shivered in the frigid air and wrapped his arms around himself, wandering over to the mud puddle that Pocahontas had indicated. He stuck a toe in to test the temperature. “Land sakes, that’s cold!”

Pocahontas made a goofy face at him. “You can’t back out now!”

“Never said I was backing out!” John Rolfe retorted, making the same mocking face back at her. She giggled. He turned to face away from the mud and let himself fall backwards into it, almost squealing as the frigid muck came in contact with his skin. Pocahontas and Siwili laughed. Rolfe rolled around until he was covered and then took a big handful of mud and chucked it right at Pocahontas, hitting her square in the face. She squealed at the unexpected impact and lost her footing, sinking all the way under the water. Siwili swam for cover behind a large boulder as Pocahontas resurfaced, wiping the mud off her face. The look in her eyes suggested she was about to declare war. The Englishman laughed at her and tried to throw mud at her again but she dodged. He climbed on the same boulder that Siwili had jumped off of and did a flip into the water, creating a huge splash and a wave. “You realize the only reason I accepted that dare was so I could throw mud at you, right?” he declared, resurfacing.

Pocahontas tossed a handful of muck from the bottom of the spring into his face. “Ha!”

John Rolfe wiped his face. “Pff! At least that was warm,” he sassed, chuckling to himself. “I would’ve loved to chuck mud at those warriors who were chasing us while we were on the mountain,” he uttered with an impish grin, washing the mud from his hair, skin, and clothes. “Too bad I didn’t think of it at the time. I would’ve thrown dirt or stones instead,” he added.

“Yeah, that would’ve been fun,” Pocahontas affirmed. She started doing flips in the water to entertain herself. Then she ducked, disappearing below the now-murky water.

“Uh oh,” John Rolfe uttered the moment she vanished. He turned to swim away but got grabbed by the back of his belt and pulled underwater. Pocahontas maneuvered him to a position where she could kiss him on the lips and then she swam away before he could snatch her in retaliation. The snow continued to fall until it started to accumulate on the ground, covering the forest floor in a thin white blanket. John Rolfe relaxed with his upper torso resting on a smooth flat boulder that poked out of the water a few inches, watching the beautiful snowfall. Percy climbed up on the rock that Rolfe was resting on and shook the water out of his coat, sitting down. He started to lick himself. “Are you done swimming, Percy? I’m getting rather sleepy myself.”

Pocahontas surfaced a few yards away from John Rolfe and then lowered herself down again until only her dark eyes were visible above the water. She narrowed them at Rolfe and approached him silently from behind, giving him a pinch when she reached him. He yelped and turned to look at her. “You deserved that,” Pocahontas declared. “Don’t pretend you didn’t!”

“Right, whatever,” John Rolfe replied, yawning as he turned away from her again. “Percy is done swimming and I’m getting tired too. We’re thinking about heading back to the cave.” Pocahontas gave him a look of disappointment but he did not notice. “The snow is so pretty. I wonder how much snow there will be by daybreak. Maybe we’ll be able to sled part of the way,” he theorized. Ka-Okee climbed out of the hot spring, shaking the excess water out of her reddish-brown coat. She quickly reared in response to an ice-cold wind and galloped back to the cave at top speed. “Ah, there goes Ka-Okee. I think I’m going to follow her,” Rolfe indicated, sitting up on the boulder. He began to wring the excess moisture out of his hair.

Siwili waded out of the water too, wringing his hair out. Barefoot, he headed straight back to the cave. Pocahontas sighed, realizing she had been overruled. She started to wring her hair out too and got out of the water, feeling the crisp mountain wind against her skin. Percy hopped a couple stones to shore and ran after Siwili as Rolfe started to put his boots back on.

Back in the cave, they all used separate tunnels to change into dry clothes. Pocahontas tied up a line of rope using stalactites and hung the wet clothes up to dry by the fire. Logs were added to the flames so that hair and fur would dry out faster. Ka-Okee and Percy licked themselves dry and then went to sleep under the blankets with John Rolfe. Pocahontas and Flit snuggled up to Meeko. Before long, they had all fallen into a deep peaceful slumber.

…

The next morning dawned with the ground covered in a foot of snow and the skies clear and bright. Despite the sunny day, it was still very cold outside. Siwili, John Rolfe, and Pocahontas were forced to wear all of their winter clothes. Siwili and Pocahontas left the cave to hunt and gather respectively while Rolfe foraged for sticks nearby to create a sled big enough to carry the three rucksacks. Pocahontas was at the berry bushes again gathering a sackful of frozen blueberries when Siwili stumbled over to her. The first thing she saw was blood on the snow and she squealed as she glanced up at the injured warrior. “It is not bad,” Siwili quickly told her to keep her calm. He showed her the three scratch marks on the side of his left thigh. An animal’s claws had torn through his buckskin pant leg. “I ran into a young black bear. Fortunately a male so there should be no orphaned cubs to worry about,” he explained, dragging something big behind him. “I was not intending to hunt bear. He attacked me first and I had to defend myself.”

Pocahontas glanced around him and spotted the furry dead carcass on the snowy ground. “That’s a lot of meat!” she proclaimed before turning her attention back to his injury. “Let’s go back to the cave. I’ll dress that for you,” she said. “I’m glad you weren’t more hurt than that. Bears can do a lot of damage!” she fretted, throwing the blueberry sack over her shoulder. She used her free hand to grab onto the dead bear’s other claw so she could help Siwili drag it back to the cave.

Siwili had a slight limp but overall he appeared alright. That did not stop John Rolfe from freaking out when he saw them. “He’s okay, John,” Pocahontas replied to the Englishman’s look of shock. “He got scratched on the leg by this bear. Fortunately his pants took the majority of the damage.” Together, Pocahontas and Siwili pulled the dead beast into the cave and deposited it near the fire. Then Pocahontas had Siwili remove his pants so she could assess the damage. “They aren’t too deep. No need for stitches. I’ll clean the wounds and bandage them up,” she spoke, turning her attention to Siwili’s rucksack. Awenasa had packed him medicinal supplies.

Pocahontas quickly tended the wound, wrapping it in a doeskin bandage. Siwili got up and started to gut the dead bear. John Rolfe noticed that one of its eyes had been gouged or stabbed out. He wondered if that was how Siwili had killed it. Slightly nauseated at the sight of entrails, Rolfe turned to go outside and gather more firewood for the cooking. He had to dig in the snow but fortunately there was plenty to be found. It was cold enough outside to keep the snow in crystalized form and therefore the wood remained dry. He made several trips to collect logs. By the time he came back from his fifth outing, the carcass was skinned and clean. Pocahontas was sewing up the tears in Siwili’s pants while the warrior prepared the meat for smoking.

“We are going to stay here for a full day in order to smoke all the meat. It should last us a while during the journey,” Pocahontas expressed as John Rolfe dumped another bundle of firewood on the pile. “So that means we can go swimming in the hot spring again if we want.”

John Rolfe felt inwardly relieved that they would not be mountain climbing in the slippery snow, at least not that very day. The thought rather unnerved him. “Alright. You’re probably going to need a lot of wood for all that. I’ll go collect more. I also need to dig out some plants for Ka-Okee to eat. We wouldn’t want her to go hungry because the snow’s covering up all her food.”

Collectively the group passed the day doing their respective chores. Then in the evening when the meat was cooked and preserved, they took another swim before returning to the cave for dinner. Pocahontas could tell the bear had been feasting on berries because the meat was so sweet and delicious. Siwili left the hides and feathers of all the animals he had killed in the cave, indicating he would be back to collect them later. The next morning, they set off bright and early to continue on their route. Siwili and John Rolfe took turns tugging the sled with their supplies along behind them. Fortunately most of the snow had iced over, making the surface sturdier and easier to walk on. Their boots were made to prevent them from slipping. The rucksacks were also lighter than usual since Siwili, Rolfe, and Pocahontas were all wearing their snow gear, making the sled easier to pull. They traveled the whole day, taking brief breaks to feast on bear meat and frozen berries. The next mountain they had to tackle was far less treacherous than the first.

They stopped at another mountain cave in the evening. It was at a much higher altitude than the previous. Though they had passed other hot springs during their journey, there were none near the new cave. They passed the night there and continued their trip in the morning, eventually coming down from the mountains to a point where the snow had vanished. The temperatures rose to the mid-fifties at the lower altitude in the early evening. They had to pack away much of their winter clothes again and carry their rucksacks on their backs.

Siwili, John Rolfe, Pocahontas, Meeko, Percy, Flit, and Ka-Okee settled in a forest at the end of the day. The trees were tall and dense enough to protect them from wind chill though it was still a pretty brisk evening. As usual, Rolfe left the group to procure firewood. Ka-Okee had followed him to seek out vegetation for sustenance. Siwili turned to the Powhatan woman when they were both gone. “Pocahontas, I will be leaving you tomorrow morning. We have traveled well past Duale territory. The tribes that live north of here may or may not be hospitable. Most are far less warlike than the Duale. I still caution you from approaching people you don’t know. You must continue following the sun east and find the coast. Then follow the coastline home from there. Do you think you and John will be alright? If there is anything more I can do for you, please let me know,” he expressed as he used the bow drill to start a fire in the pit he had made.

Pocahontas was a bit surprised that their time with the Gunalo warrior was already coming to an end. She was slightly saddened but did not let it show. “I do have at least one request. Can you take Ka-Okee back with you and have the village care for her over the winter? In the spring, she should have matured enough to take care of herself. John and I just don’t think it is wise to take a baby deer all the way north with us. It will be cold and dangerous.”

Siwili nodded his head. “Yes, I can do that. Oh! I have a request myself from you. Chief Heamalahilo really admires John’s red hair. He requests a lock to keep in exchange for our hospitality. Do you think you could ask John for a lock of his hair for us?”

“I can certainly ask him. You have been very good to us. I doubt he would refuse such a simple request,” Pocahontas replied cheerfully. “I can go ask him right now if you’d like.”

Siwili smiled. “That would be great. Thank you, Pocahontas.”

Pocahontas rose to her feet and dropped one of John Rolfe’s sheathed steel knives into her right pocket, trudging off the way Rolfe had gone. She found him collecting firewood and watching over Ka-Okee at the edge of a modest fall meadow. He had a length of twine stretched out on the ground and was piling sticks and logs across it to make a bundle. “Pocahontas!” he uttered in surprise when he caught sight of her. “I should have enough wood for the fire tonight, love. You don’t need to help me collect any if you don’t want to,” he said, flashing her a smile.

Pocahontas shook her head and grinned. “Actually I came to ask you for something.”

John Rolfe stopped what he was doing and turned his attention to her. “And what’s that?”

Pocahontas walked up to him, pulled out his hair tie, and started stroking his lustrous locks. “Chief Heamalahilo has requested a lock of your hair in exchange for his tribe’s hospitality. It is a very exotic color and texture to him so I imagine you understand why he is enamored with it.”

John Rolfe blinked in surprise. “He wants my hair?”

“Just a lock, not all of it,” Pocahontas clarified.

John Rolfe laughed nervously and ran his fingers through his own mane. “That’s rather strange. In England, only lovers exchange locks of hair. I guess things are really very different here.”

“They certainly are,” Pocahontas confirmed. She pulled the knife from her pocket, removed the sheath, and held it up in view. “May I? I’ll take it from the middle of the back so it won’t show.”

John Rolfe shrugged and turned around, leaning his head forward. “I suppose so.” Pocahontas parted his hair and gathered a small bundle of it at the back with her fingers, cutting the length off at the scalp. John Rolfe turned back around and rearranged his hair. “There. No harm done,” he said almost to himself. She handed him his hair strap and he tied it back again. “So this is for the chief? What about Siwili and his family? He’s the one who’s hosted us personally.”

“You want to give him a lock of hair too?” Pocahontas inquired.

John Rolfe shook his head. “No, I had something else in mind. Pocahontas… on a scale of one to ten, how attached are you to that necklace I bought you in London? I figure gold and diamonds are pretty exotic around here so perhaps it would make a very special gift indeed. I can always buy you more jewelry later when we get to Jamestown,” he expressed.

Pocahontas’s eyes widened, impressed at Rolfe’s proposal. “That would make a wonderful gift. Where’s the necklace? You can buy me more jewelry later if you want but you don’t have to.” John Rolfe pulled it out of his pocket. The smooth diamond and gold chain glimmered in the dying light of evening. Pocahontas was holding Rolfe’s hair lock in her left hand so he placed the necklace in her right. “Thank you. I will go give these to Siwili right away. He is going to be leaving us in the morning. We’re well out of the mountains. From here, we have to follow the morning sun back to the coast and then follow the coast north to my homeland.”

“Oh!” John Rolfe replied. “So soon? I’ll be sad to see him leave. I wish I knew how to thank him for accompanying us this far,” he lamented, throwing another couple of sticks onto the pile.

Pocahontas smiled. “I’m sure these gifts will be thanks enough. I’ll see you back at camp when you are done, John,” she said, giving him a kiss on the lips. Then she left to find Siwili. The warrior had an inquisitive look in his eyes the moment he spotted her, perhaps wondering if her quest had been a success or not. She immediately presented him with the long lock of Rolfe’s auburn hair. “For the chief,” she said. Then she presented him with the necklace. “For you and your family. Thank you for hosting us while we were recovering.”

Siwili’s eyes widened at the sparkling gift. He had never seen anything like it before and took it in its hands, admiring its shimmer. “It’s beautiful! I will wear it on my belt all the way home. Then perhaps Awenasa will like to wear it sometimes. It is a necklace, is it not?”

“Yes, of course, but you can wear it however you wish,” Pocahontas replied.

Siwili continued to ogle it as he shifted the blue stone around in his hands. “What’s it made of?”

“The chain is a yellow material called gold. It comes from the earth in some exotic places. The pendant is a very hard rock called a diamond,” Pocahontas explained, pointing to each part.

Siwili clipped the necklace onto his belt and took the lock of hair that Pocahontas had offered him. “The chief will be very happy to receive this. It is quite a generous amount. Was John unhappy at all about parting with it?” he inquired worriedly.

Pocahontas pursed her lips and then shook her head. “Not really. He did think it was a little strange though. Where he comes from, only lovers exchange locks of hair.”

Siwili stared at her blankly before bursting into raucous laughter. “Are you serious? That’s hilarious! Chief Heamalahilo will laugh himself to death if I tell him that. And then I bet he’ll recount that story to anyone who asks about the red lock when they see it on his belt.”

Pocahontas giggled. “Good. I hope it makes a great conversation piece for him.”

“Will you help me tie it up so it won’t come apart?” Siwili requested, holding it taut at each end. “The thin twine is in the front pocket of my travel pack.”

Pocahontas dug her hand in the pocket for the twine. Then she tied the hair securely at one end with three good knots. “Do you want me to braid it and then tie it at the other end?”

Siwili nodded. “That’s a good idea. Chief Heamalahilo will like that kind of presentation,” he indicated, holding the lock of hair at the tied end. Pocahontas started to braid it. When she was done, she helped him tie the braid securely at the other end so that it would not come loose.

“There,” Pocahontas said. “All done.”

“Thank you, Pocahontas,” Siwili returned. Suddenly he heard the sound of a cracking twig. He jumped to his feet when the Englishman returned carrying a huge bundle of sticks.

John Rolfe dropped the bundle by the fire pit as Siwili walked up to him. “Hello, Siwili.”

The brave reached a hand into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a beautifully painted carving in the shape of a small water turtle. The item hung from a loop of colorful braided and beaded twine. Siwili held it out to Rolfe, offering it as a present. “Suto lo, Djahn.”

John Rolfe blinked in surprise. He held up his hands when he realized it was supposed to be a gift. “Wait, no! You’ve already done so much for us. The necklace was an exchange for all your help. You don’t need to offer something in return. I… Wait, did you paint that by hand?” he uttered, actually observing the item. He accepted it and turned it over in his hands, running his fingers over the smooth painted surface. There were eight small holes drilled in the back of the turtle’s shell though Rolfe had no idea what they were for. “It’s lovely. What is it?”

Pocahontas came over to look at the gift. “It’s a musical instrument, John,” she explained. “You blow into the turtle’s mouth to make sound and put your fingertips on the holes to change the pitch.” Siwili mimed the action of playing such a woodwind instrument to demonstrate.

John Rolfe put the turtle’s head to his mouth and blew, creating a beautiful flute-like noise. He played with the holes to see how he could manipulate the sound further. When he was done testing it, he held it up to look at it some more. “This must’ve been hard to make. What is this type of instrument called? It sounds just like a flute.”

“It’s an ocarina,” Pocahontas replied. “A type of flute.”

Siwili took the item back by the twine it was attached to and laid it over John Rolfe’s head such that it hung from his neck like a locket. Rolfe pulled his ponytail out from the twine and looked down at the ocarina, placing a hand on top of it where it dangled over his heart. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll keep it with me always.” Siwili smiled and nodded.

John Rolfe returned to the woods to get more firewood. They passed the evening in merriment, using the firelight to cast amusing shadows on the dense trees behind them. Siwili performed a few tricks with the fire and Pocahontas drew pictures in the dirt with a stick like Rolfe had previously done with the children of Siwili’s village. Rolfe even fooled around with his ocarina though he had yet to figure out how to make proper music with it. When they finished their dinner, they fell asleep under the moonlit sky and slept peacefully until dawn.

…

The next morning came all too soon. Siwili was the first to rise. He started exchanging items in the rucksacks, putting all the food and the warmest clothes in John Rolfe and Pocahontas’s travel packs. When Pocahontas opened her eyes, she noticed what he was doing and sat up. “Aren’t you going to need some of the food for your trip back?” she inquired.

Siwili shook his head. “No, I can hunt. Besides, you and John will need all the help you can get to reach your homeland safely without starving or freezing to death.”

Pocahontas nodded her understanding. “That’s very generous of you,” she replied, thinking back to all they had been through since they left the village. She got up and shook the morning dew from her bedroll before rolling it up. Something occurred to her when she caught sight of the musket tied to Rolfe’s rucksack. She glanced up at the warrior again. “I’m worried you might run into the pirates again—or the Duale. Maybe you should take the rifle. It’s really no good for hunting, too noisy. But it is great for frightening enemies away.”

Siwili raised a brow. “But it is John’s battle trophy. He took it from a vanquished enemy. I would not want to take that away from him,” he returned, shaking his head.

“John does not value battle trophies the same way warriors do. I highly doubt he’s that attached to it. I can ask him when he wakes up though,” Pocahontas indicated.

Siwili finished exchanging items and sat down by the ashen fire pit. “If I take the fire stick, then you must take my bow and quiver in return. I know you can shoot, Pocahontas. It would be of use for you to be able to hunt. Perhaps you can even start teaching John. It is a shame I did not get the chance to teach him myself. Your time with us was all too brief.”

“But don’t _you_ need it to hunt?” Pocahontas protested.

Siwili shook his head. “I have other methods. Plus I can make another workable bow in a few hours if I absolutely need to,” he replied, easing Pocahontas’s fears for him.

“Alright,” Pocahontas conceded. She untied the rifle from John Rolfe’s rucksack and picked it up. “Let me show you how to load and fire the musket in case John says yes,” she expressed. He had already observed the routine before but it never hurt to get a reminder. Pocahontas walked him through the steps though they did not end up actually firing the musket. When they were done, Pocahontas took the musket ball out and leaned it against Rolfe’s rucksack. “And remember that if you’re trying to aim, you must keep both eyes open,” she reminded him.

“Of course. It is the same when shooting a bow,” Siwili returned with a chuckle.

Pocahontas giggled. “Oh yeah.”

John Rolfe, Ka-Okee, and Percy were still fast asleep. Siwili wandered off as Pocahontas sat down beside Rolfe’s sleeping form. She started to stroke his hair, finding his severe bedhead amusing to gaze at. “It is time to wake up, John,” she said in a soothing voice. He grumbled back at her and pulled the blankets over his head. Pocahontas put her hands on her hips in a stern gesture before pulling the extra blanket off of Rolfe and the animals entirely. “Wakey, wakey!” she loudly announced, causing Rolfe, Ka-Okee, and Percy to flinch.

“Noooooo, it’s cooooold,” John Rolfe whined, groping around blindly for the blanket.

“Then put more clothes on,” Pocahontas replied, pulling the hairbrush out of her rucksack. She tossed it to him and it landed on his belly, giving him a slight jolt. He groaned. “Siwili is getting ready to head back to his village. And I have an important question to ask you. So get up!”

John Rolfe sat up on his bedroll, scratching his tousled hair. “Mm? What’s that?”

“I’m a little nervous about Siwili possibly running into Flame’s crew or enemy warriors on the way back. I think we should give him the musket. I showed him how to load and fire it earlier. He will give us his bow in return so I can use it to hunt,” Pocahontas expressed.

John Rolfe blinked as he looked up at her. “Won’t he need his bow? Guns can be challenging to hunt with, especially if you aren’t accustomed to firing one.”

“A warrior knows how to make a new bow in a few hours if he needs to,” Pocahontas explained.

“Ah, alright,” John Rolfe conceded. “Give him the musket then.”

Pocahontas packed up her stuff and helped John Rolfe pack up his things when he was done brushing his hair. Siwili returned from the woods. They exchanged weapons before exchanging farewells. Rolfe got Siwili to load and fire the musket to make sure he knew how to do so properly. Then he offered the warrior a hand. Instead of the handshake the Englishman expected, he got pulled into a bear-like embrace and patted firmly on the back. He laughed nervously as he was released and then looked down to the fawn who was fascinated by a lady bug walking across a leaf. “Ka-Okee,” Rolfe said, gaining her attention. “Come, I would like you to go back with Siwili. His village folk will take good care of you and you’ll be safe with him,” he expressed, pointing to the brave. Ka-Okee immediately shook her head and hid between Rolfe’s legs.

“Uh oh,” Pocahontas said with a giggle. “I don’t think she wants to leave you, John.”

“Well she’s got to,” John Rolfe countered. “It’s not safe for her to come with us.” He placed his hands sternly on his hips and looked down to the fawn. Her ears were laid back as she crouched to the ground. “Come now. You don’t want to go to Virginia with us. It will be cold and there will be less vegetation for you to munch on.” He bent down and tried to push her gently in Siwili’s direction but she resisted with all her might. Rolfe sighed in frustration. “You know, it might be possible for us to come back and visit in a year or two. Please, we won’t be able to take care of you when winter comes and I’d hate to see you go hungry.”

Ka-Okee was still hesitant. Pocahontas laughed. “Ka, will you go with Siwili if we promise to visit some time in the not-too-distant future?” she inquired. The fawn seemed to consider the proposal. After a few extended moments, she finally raised her ears and gave them a nod.

“Oh, thank goodness!” John Rolfe declared, throwing up his hands. He gave her a pat. “Alright, we’ll visit. Most likely by ship. The trip will be much faster that way. Now go over to Siwili like you promised, Ka. Don’t be afraid. He’ll take good care of you.” Ka-Okee moved to face John Rolfe and then reared up on her hind legs. He bent down to receive her as she rested her hooves on his broad chest, giving him one final goodbye lick on the cheek. “Bye-bye for now, darling.”

Meeko waved goodbye as Ka-Okee pranced over to Siwili’s side. The warrior stroked her on the head. He waved goodbye to John Rolfe and Pocahontas, and vice-versa. At last, everyone put on their rucksacks and went their separate ways. Meeko, Percy, and Flit followed Rolfe and Pocahontas east whereas Ka-Okee and Siwili headed southwest back into the mountains.


	20. The Old Codger and the Young Stud

****Pocahontas, John Rolfe, Meeko, Percy, and Flit traveled northeast for three days before they ran into another big river system. Fortunately their water supply had lasted long enough and they refilled all their skins when they reached the broad waterway. They had traveled through forests and meadows as well as over wooded hills and bluffs. Now they were once again forced to build a small watercraft to keep their supplies dry as they crossed the river. They followed the river on the northern side for two days until it began to dip south into Duale territory.

Not knowing how long it would be until they came upon freshwater again, they filled all their skins and headed northeast using the sun as a guide. To their delight, they came upon numerous streams and tributaries that fed into the river as they traveled. The forests grew dense and then sparse again, dense and then sparse. After another two days, they had run out of bear meat. Now all the food they had left was powdered corn, nuts, dried fruits, and dried meats and fish—the original supplies they had started out with on the journey. Siwili’s hunting had allowed them to preserve their food supply but now they would have to rely on it.

Wanting their food reserve to last as long as possible, Pocahontas had taken up hunting with Siwili’s bow. It was awkward to use since Siwili had been taller than her but she was still able to shoot moderately well with it. She became very conscientious about not losing arrows after she had shot at a hare in tall grasses. It had taken her and John Rolfe thirty minutes to find the lost arrow. Some time after that, they had come upon a sounder of wild boar in the forest. Rolfe did not like the size of their tusks and he asked Pocahontas to hunt them from the trees if she was going to hunt them at all. It was pointless to risk a serious injury on the ground. Pocahontas had found an enormous tree growing out of the side of a six foot bluff near a stream. The trunk was severely bent over, nearly parallel to the ground over which the hogs roamed.

Pocahontas camouflaged herself with mud and leaves before climbing the tree stealthily. At least fifteen hogs were foraging in the dirt below her, including one big boar and two or three sows with piglets. The Powhatan woman got in position to aim her arrow directly at the large male. Right as she was getting ready to shoot however, the boar froze as if it sensed something. Not wanting to miss the opportunity, Pocahontas unleashed her arrow. The boar flinched out of the way in time and the arrow hit an oversized piglet instead right smack between the eyes.

Pocahontas gasped as the piglet fell dead, its mother and siblings gathering around it. They nudged the little pig with their noses, trying to revive it. “JOHN!” Pocahontas cried out, tears welling in her eyes. She startled the sounder and they fled, leaving only the dead piglet behind.

John Rolfe had been setting up camp nearby. He came running when he heard Pocahontas’s call of distress and stood at the edge of the bluff. “Pocahontas, where are you?” he called out.

The devastated huntress hopped down from the tree and stood beside the dead piglet. “John, I killed a baby! I didn’t mean to kill it!” she cried, bursting into tears.

John Rolfe raised a brow and then gingerly slid down the bluff to meet her. He glanced down at the piglet. “Looks like it should make a nice meal. Why are you so upset, love?” he inquired. She appeared to be shaking so he pulled her into a warm embrace. “It’s alright.”

“It’s not alright! I killed a baby!” she sobbed, burying her face in his chest. “I’m a baby-killer.”

John Rolfe sighed. “Pocahontas, I can’t claim to have never eaten baby animals before. Roast piglet is considered a delicacy in England. Veal and lamb too. You should be proud of yourself that you actually caught something. We must eat to survive and this is your first successful hunt with a bow,” he replied, rubbing her lower back in circles. Meeko and Percy ran to the edge of the bluff, sniffing the air. When Percy saw the dead piglet, he licked his lips and yipped happily. “Looks like we’re having ham tonight, boys!” Rolfe announced, pulling back from Pocahontas. He picked up the piglet from the ground by the shaft of the arrow embedded in its skull.

Pocahontas sniffled and rubbed her eyes. She was not sure what to think. Though John Rolfe had given her a different perspective, she still had lingering guilt associated with her first bow hunt. Now she knew for sure that she preferred the bow as a hobby. But in their predicament, hunting would be a necessity. “I was aiming at a big boar but he jumped out of the way and my arrow hit the piglet instead,” she whimpered as Rolfe gently ushered her back to their campsite.

John Rolfe was definitely looking forward to the meal. Suckling pig was so tender and flavorful, plus the animal was nicely fattened for the winter. He could hardly wait to start roasting its flesh over the fire. The Englishman heard a sigh come from Pocahontas as they walked back to camp. Suddenly she reached over and took the piglet from him. “Love?” he inquired.

“Let me clean the carcass here,” Pocahontas explained. “We don’t want entrails hanging around camp. It might attract bears,” she expressed, taking out one of the obsidian knives that Awenasa had given her. She crouched and laid the carcass out on its back, preparing to slice into the skin.

“Alright, I’ll go make sure the fire is ready,” John Rolfe replied, running his fingers through her hair. He turned and left. Meeko, Percy, and Flit followed him back to camp. When they got there, Rolfe stopped in front of the fire and sighed. Percy glanced up at him and whimpered, wondering what was the matter. Rolfe did not fail to notice the pug’s gaze. “I feel bad that Pocahontas has to clean the carcass all by herself after she did the hunt. Technically, I’m supposed to be the one doing _both_ of those things. It’s just that… I get the heebie-jeebies whenever I see entrails and I feel sick.” The Brit breathed in deeply as if trying to avoid nausea at the mere thought. Then he steeled himself as a decisive look overcame his features. “I’ll just have to get over it. Percy,” Rolfe declared, “next time there’s a kill, I’m going to be the one to clean the carcass. Don’t let me forget!” Percy gave Rolfe a staunch nod. The Englishman puffed out his chest and plopped down by the fire, throwing more sticks into the flames. He poked the fire to make it burn hotter.

Pocahontas arrived fifteen minutes later with a striped pelt, a clean carcass, and a severed head with the arrow poking out. “I’m not strong enough to pull that out but I need to get my arrow back somehow,” she disclosed, apparently having recovered from her first-hunt trauma. She sat beside John Rolfe and laid a few green sticks over the fire to make a platform.

John Rolfe picked up the head by the shaft of the arrow and rubbed his chin with a thoughtful look on his face. “Hm,” he uttered. “Well we want to be careful not to damage the arrow.” He placed the pig’s head down on a flat rock and used another rock to smash the skull until he could easily pluck the arrow out, handing it back to Pocahontas. “There you are, love.”

“Thank you!” Pocahontas lauded, pleased. She rinsed the arrow off and stuck it back in the quiver. Then she set the quiver aside along with her bow. Turning her attention back to the piglet, she butterflied the carcass and stretched it wide open. She laid it over the frame to cook, placing a heavy flat stone on top. Meeko cooed and started sniffing at the meat. “It’s not ready yet, Meeko,” she informed the raccoon, gently shooing him away.

“Pocahontas,” John Rolfe uttered.

She glanced over at him. “Yes?”

The Englishman cleared his throat before speaking his mind. “I’ve been thinking… Technically, I’m the one who’s supposed to be doing the hunting and all. Siwili did teach me a few things about animal tracking. And I can tell that you don’t enjoy doing all that. So I thought it would be a good idea if you could just show me the basics of archery tonight after dinner. I know it’s one of those things that will take a while to master but I’ve got to start sometime,” he proposed, wringing his hands a bit. For some reason, the request made him nervous. Perhaps he feared he would look stupid and clumsy trying to wield a bow and that Pocahontas might laugh at him.

Pocahontas’s eyes brightened. “That’s a good idea. Siwili’s bow is awkward for me because it’s too long. It would be just about right for you though since you and Siwili were pretty similar in height,” she returned as the meat started to sizzle. She poked at the coals.

A deliciously sweet meaty aroma permeated the air and John Rolfe’s mouth began to water. He glanced over as Pocahontas laid the pelt fur side down across a broad stone and began to use a flint knife to scrape the excess meat and fat off of the underside. “What are you going to do with that?” Rolfe inquired curiously, leaning over to watch. “The pattern is lovely.”

“I’m going to flesh it and let it dry out. Then when we get home, I think I’ll tan it,” Pocahontas explained as she went about her work. When she finished with the pelt, it was time to flip the piglet over to roast on the other side. Pocahontas used two sticks to perform the task and then laid two stones on each side to keep the ‘wings’ down flat against the heat source.

John Rolfe reached over and picked up the pelt, feeling the fur side. “It’s so soft. Adult hog hair is much coarser. Imagine if you collected a bunch of these, you could sew them together to make a luxurious blanket or fur coat,” he theorized. He put the pelt down on the stone again to dry.

“You’d have to be the collector then because I don’t intend to kill any more baby pigs,” Pocahontas replied, a slight grin gracing her features as she shook her head. “There are lots of wild boars at home. If you catch and tan the furs, I’ll sew them together for you.”

John Rolfe bounced up and down excitedly like an overactive toddler. “It’s a plan!”

Pocahontas rolled her eyes. After another twenty minutes, she pulled a small ceramic container of wild honey out of her rucksack. “It’s time to glaze the meat,” she revealed with a clever grin. She carefully used a broad green leaf to coat the underside with honey and then flipped it over, coating the topside as well. “Should be done in a few more minutes.” Percy was drooling at the sight of it. Rolfe and Meeko could hardly wait for the meat to be ready to consume.

…

Less than two miles away, an old man on a young stallion detected the unmistakable scent of roast honey-glazed suckling pig. Using his nose as a guide, he took out his blunderbuss and spurred his horse into a gallop. The source of the aroma could not be far, he thought. He raced through the forest for a long way, leaping over a small ravine. Though his eye sight was poor in old age, he did detect a tiny dot of firelight in the midst of the black forest ahead.

He burst onto the isolated campsite, rearing his horse high in the air in an act of intimidation. A woman squealed in startlement. Both she and her male companion jumped to their feet and cowered in each other’s arms. A raccoon, pug dog, and hummingbird took shelter behind them though the old man paid no heed to the animals. “¿Qué tenemos aquí?” declared the elderly Spaniard. He examined the two of them. They were an odd pair, a white man and native woman. He was not sure what to make of them at first. Judging from the way they held each other, it soon became apparent that they were a couple. The Spaniard narrowed his eyes at the male, wondering if he was English. “¡Me llamo Juanito Ponce de León, hijo de Juan Ponce de León! ¿Quién es usted?” he loudly declared, pointing his blunderbuss at them.

John Rolfe pulled Pocahontas behind him and drew his brows together in anger. He knew Spanish as well as French and wasted no time in replying. “I am John Rolfe,” he said in Spanish. “I don’t mean to sound rude but I don’t particularly care who your father is. Might I ask why you’re threatening my lovely companion and I with a firearm?” he inquired, narrowing his eyes at the blunderbuss. “That’s no way to make friends, good fellow. What it is that you want?”

Juanito pointed his blunderbuss at the roasting piglet. “I am a lost explorer in searching of my brother Poncito de León. My men abandoned me months ago and I have since run out of food. I suppose you can guess what my intention is from that tidbit of information,” he expressed with a wicked grin. His horse whinnied loudly. “Quiet, Ciceron! Papa is speaking with strangers. We’ll get us a drink at the next river we come across,” he said, stroking the stallion.

John Rolfe made a cuckoo gesture to Pocahontas. _“This guy’s nuts,”_ he whispered.

“John, did he just say ‘Poncito de León’?” Pocahontas inquired, her interest piqued.

Rolfe nodded. “He says he’s looking for his brother who goes by that name. Why?”

“I know an old Spaniard named Poncito de León. He is married to an elder woman in my village, Ugwumpah,” Pocahontas explained. “He stumbled upon our lands a week or two after John Smith was wounded by Ratcliffe. Poncito claimed he was searching for the so-called ‘Fountain of Youth.’ In fact, he had a gun just like the one this man is carrying.”

John Rolfe was taken aback. “Seriously?” he replied. Pocahontas nodded. Rolfe looked like he had been thrown for a loop as he turned his gaze back to Juanito. “Señor, my companion tells me that she knows your brother Poncito. She says that he is married to a woman in her village.”

The old Spaniard jolted in surprise at the unexpected claim. Then his face fell to a look of suspicion, even anger, as he brandished his rifle in the air. “Nonsense! Drivel! My brother is a dedicated explorer _and_ bachelor. He would never settle down! English lies! Rubbish!”

John Rolfe sternly placed his hands on his hips. “Well Pocahontas says he did. Perhaps your assumptions about him are wrong. When is the last time you saw him if I might ask?”

“It’s been a decade since… we had a falling out,” Juanito hesitantly admitted. “But I can’t imagine him married. He would never… But just in case I am wrong, where is this alleged village that he is _supposedly_ living in?” he inquired, narrowing his eyes at Rolfe.

A pleasant smile bloomed on John Rolfe’s face. “Why, it’s where Pocahontas and I are headed! It’s pretty far off. We suspect it’ll take us at least a month to get there on foot. You’re welcome to join our quest. You see, we were on a supply ship that was attacked by pirates and…”

“Blah, blah, blah, muchacho!” exclaimed Juanito. “I have no time to listen to your humdrum life story,” he snapped, making Rolfe frown. “All you need do is point me in the direction of said village and hand over that scrumptious suckling pig you’ve got roasting there…” he expressed, his mouth visibly watering at the sight of the porcine delicacy.

John Rolfe’s eyes widened. “B-but that’s our dinner! We’re the ones who caught it so it’s rightfully ours! What kind of foul scum are you to want to rob a couple of hapless travelers?”

Pocahontas started to get nervous. “John, what is he saying? What does he want?”

John Rolfe tossed a frown backwards. “He wants to steal our dinner,” he expressed, pointing to the roasting piglet. It was just about ready to eat and Rolfe was absolutely starved.

Pocahontas knitted her brows angrily. “Well you tell him that I’ll tell his brother he’s a no-good dirty thief if he does that!” she snapped, sending a glare over Rolfe’s shoulder at Juanito.

John Rolfe made the translation but Juanito Ponce de León only laughed. “Like my brother would listen to an Indian!” he retorted in a mocking manner.

The Englishman drew his brows together. “Well he’s married to one! You don’t think he listens to his own wife?” Rolfe snapped back, crossing his arms in a petulant manner.

 _“John,”_ Pocahontas whispered in his ear. _“Why don’t you try inviting him to dinner? Maybe he’ll be more friendly then. We could all three head to my homeland together.”_

 _“I tried inviting him to travel with us but he didn’t seem interested,”_ John Rolfe whispered back.

The old Spaniard dismounted his stallion and kept his blunderbuss pointed in their direction as he approached the campfire. “I’m taking this suckling pig and there’s nothing you can do about it!” he ordained, reaching for the tasty carcass. He stopped and noticed the travel packs leaning against nearby trees. “Have you other food as well?” he interrogated.

“We…” John Rolfe began, only to be interrupted when Flit went on the offensive.

Flit did not take kindly to Juanito’s desire to rob his friends. He squawked angrily and flew out from behind John Rolfe, darting at Juanito. The hummingbird flew circles around the old man’s head, pelting him with merciless peck after peck to the face. Juanito cried out, jumping around and flailing wildly as he tried to ward off the pest. He lost his grip on the blunderbuss and it fell right into the campfire below. Flit was highly encouraged. “¡Caramba! The hornets around here are enormous! Get away from me, you overgrown bumblebee!” he cried out in Spanish.

John Rolfe jumped forward and snatched the blunderbuss up out of the fire, holding it in front of him diagonally. He pointed the muzzle at the ground. “You can stop now, Flit,” Rolfe announced.

When the Spaniard realized the Englishman had his gun, he put his hands up in the air. “Surely you wouldn’t shoot a helpless old man…” he uttered, starting to sweat.

John Rolfe shook his head. “I wouldn’t shoot anyone if I could help it,” he affirmed. He pointed the gun up into the air and pressed the trigger, only to find that it was not loaded.

“Ha!” Juanito cried. “You young fool! Don’t you know they don’t make ammunition for the blunderbuss anymore?” he snapped as if he had gotten the better of the Englishman.

John Rolfe only returned a smooth smile. “Perfect. I was only making sure it was unloaded so I could do this,” he explained as he held the gun up high in the air. He brought it crashing down across a sharp stone, effectively breaking the muzzle in half. Then he tossed it aside and swiped his hands back and forth against each other. “There! All done. Now. Unless you wish to be civil and join Pocahontas and I for supper, do go and run along, you silly old man!”

Juanito’s face turned crimson in fury. “That belonged to my father, you insufferable whelp!” he shouted as he pulled out a foot-long pistol. “This one actually _is_ loaded. Now tell me where to find the village my brother resides in. And you’d better not lie! I can smell a lie from ten miles off, muchacho!” he charged, pointing the pistol right at John Rolfe’s head.

Flit was about to charge again but John Rolfe put up a hand to block his path. “No, Flit. We don’t want to risk making him accidentally pull the trigger. Just stay back and let me handle this,” he said in English. He turned his attention back to the old Spaniard. “Señor, you needn’t threaten us to get that information. We’d be delighted to tell you. Have you heard of Jamestown?”

“Sí, I have heard of it… I know where it is but, like I told you before, I am lost so I don’t know where I am right now,” Juanito Ponce de León explained. “Hence I don’t know where your English settlement is from my current location. Do you?”

“You need to travel east and slightly north back to the coast and then follow the coast north to Virginia,” John Rolfe said shortly. “Those are the best directions I’ve got, I’m afraid. Pocahontas and I are having to play this journey by ear since we haven’t got a map and we don’t particularly know where we are either. At least you’ve got yourself a horse so you should get there faster.”

Juanito raised a brow. “But you said my brother lived in an Indian village, not in Jamestown.”

“The village is a few miles north of Jamestown. That’s where you’ll find him,” John Rolfe finished. “Now is that all you wanted or are you going to gallivant off and leave us in peace?”

Without breaking eye contact, Juanito reached back and drew a rapier from the scabbard tied to his horse’s saddle. He skewered the roasting piglet. “This is the only other thing I wanted,” he replied with a cackle, sheathing the pistol. He hopped up on the stallion’s back, hoisting the impaled piglet high as he reared his horse. “¡Gracias, amigos! I ride like the wind! ¡Vamos, Ciceron!” He spurred the horse into a gallop and they darted off through the woods.

“Hey!” John Rolfe bellowed, running after the Spaniard. “That’s our dinner! Come back here, you scoundrel!” Meeko and Percy ran after Rolfe. Pocahontas called out to the Englishman as he disappeared into the trees but he did not hear her. He raced after the heavy hoof clops even as they disappeared into the distance. Rolfe came to a sudden halt when he heard a shriek and a loud whinny. He could hear the echoing clops returning in his direction. The horse and its terrified rider charged toward him at full speed. Rolfe barely managed to roll out of the way in time to avoid a trampling. “¡Oso enojado! ¡Corran por sus vidas!” Juanito cried as he raced past.

John Rolfe gasped and looked up just in time to hear the angry roar. He yelped loudly and jumped to his feet, taking off after the Spaniard as the big black bear emerged from the brush running at top speed. Suddenly it was after him. Rolfe called out ahead of him in Spanish, “Drop the suckling pig, you fool! That’s what it wants! Drop the bloody pig and it’ll leave us be!”

“Never, muchacho!” shouted the Spaniard. John Rolfe spied him up ahead through the trees as he raced away from the scene. Curious to know how far behind the bear was, Juanito glanced backwards just once. It was just long enough for him to not see the low tree limb that knocked him clean off his horse and sent him crashing to the ground. The fall knocked his breath out and he heaved for air as he tried to push himself up from the dirt. The pig-wielding rapier had been knocked out of his hands completely and laid on the ground three feet behind.

“You old fool!” John Rolfe howled as he caught up. The young man did a dive-roll, snatching up the hilt of the rapier. He lurched to his feet and turned back, facing the bear down as the animal came to a stop. It reared up on its hind legs with a furious roar. “Get out your pistol, señor! It’s the only reliable defense we’ve got!” Rolfe cried, certain the bear was going to charge.

The old Spaniard had just barely managed to fill his lungs. He leaned against a tree, using its support to rise to his feet. “¡Qué lástima! I lied when I said the pistol was loaded. I ran out of bullets long ago! That’s why I was so hungry, I couldn’t hunt!” Juanito Ponce de León retorted, stumbling back as the bear stood to its full height. He cowered behind Rolfe for protection.

The frightened Englishman stumbled back, nearly tripping over the old man. “You liar! This could be the death of both of us and it’s all your fault!” The bear quickly plucked the roast piglet right off the end of the sword with its teeth and ran off like nothing had ever happened, disappearing into the dark forest. The furious Brit breathed a sigh of relief and turned the rapier on the troublemaker responsible for the fiasco instead. _“You,”_ he hissed.

…

Pocahontas was back at the campsite with Flit packing up supplies. She had no idea where John Rolfe had run off to but she had to find him. Fortunately he found her first. He returned to the scene dragging a wrist-bound Spaniard behind him. She gasped. “Where’s the pig?” she inquired, finally starting to feel the hunger pangs that Rolfe had been feeling for a few hours.

“Thanks to this old Spanish buffoon, a great big bear ran off with it! I was so looking forward to that dinner too. Now we’ll have to eat bland corn porridge and chewy dried meat for dinner tonight. We could have feasted on a succulent delicacy if this clown hadn’t come along!” Rolfe angrily proclaimed. He deposited Juanito Ponce de León before the fire pit and added a few more sticks since the flames had died, fanning them back to life. Rolfe glanced over at Pocahontas. “Are… you packing?” he inquired, noticing the bedrolls were gone.

“I was… I wasn’t sure where you had run off to. Sorry, John,” Pocahontas replied as she took out the bedrolls again. “I’ll put everything back the way it was. What are you going to do with him?” she asked, pointing to the old man. “You’re not going to hurt him, are you?”

John Rolfe shook his head. “Course not. I may sound angry but, believe it or not, I do have some degree of respect for my elders. Since this nut case isn’t exactly sound of mind, I figured it would be irresponsible of me to let him go wandering off on his own. He’ll starve, freeze, or worse. Nearly got himself attacked by a big black bear after all.” He turned his attention to Juanito who was subtly trying to unbind himself and having no luck at it. “Viejo, call back your horse,” Rolfe told him in Spanish. “Both you and Señor Ciceron are coming to Virginia with us whether you like it or not and the stallion will be carrying our things.”

Juanito drew his brows together. “I do not give you permission to use my horse!”

“And we didn’t give you permission to use our supper to fill your oversized belly,” John Rolfe retorted, lightly poking the Spaniard in his rotund paunch with the tip of the rapier. “I’m not asking, I’m telling!” It was then that Pocahontas noticed Rolfe had in his possession the sword that the Spaniard had used to snatch up the roast pig.

With the rapier aimed in his direction, Juanito Ponce de León began to feel more than a little intimidated. He whistled loudly and called out, “¡Ciceron, ven aquí!”

A few minutes later, the approaching sound of soft clops could be heard. The large Andalusian male approached, giving John Rolfe a chance to truly observe him. The stallion was covered in a dark brown winter coat and wore a long black mane. “He’s lovely,” Rolfe remarked to Juanito.

“Yeah? And he’s not yours!” the Spaniard returned in a snippy tone.

John Rolfe placed his hands on his hips and shook his head with an amused look on his face. “Señor, I think we have already established that you are the thief and not I. You can have your horse back all to yourself when we reach Virginia. Understand?”

Still Juanito looked suspicious. “Well you had better not hurt him along the way…” he warned.

John Rolfe looked insulted. “Me? Hurt a horse? I would never, I love horses!” he countered. He walked over to his rucksack and pulled out a piece of dried pawpaw fruit. It was the closest he could get to an apple. He went over to see if the horse wanted to eat it. “I’ve got a present for you, Señor Ciceron. Yum, yum, yum, I hope you like it,” Rolfe said in a soothing voice. He slowly approached the animal to avoid frightening him and held out the treat on a flat palm, offering it to the stallion. Ciceron snuffled his way over to the pawpaw and plucked it out of Rolfe’s hand with his dark velvet lips, chewing it delightfully. Rolfe placed a hand on his neck and stroked him. “That’s a good boy. My, you’re awfully gentle for a stallion.”

“He comes from a long line of fierce warhorses!” Juanito proclaimed.

John Rolfe nodded. “Yes, he looks very strong indeed. I bet the lady horses go nuts when they see him. Isn’t that right, Señor Ciceron? You’re a real equine lover boy, aren’t you?” Ciceron snorted and bobbed his head, getting excited by all the attention. “Yes, that’s right. Why don’t you lie down and get comfortable? We’re camping here tonight. Or perhaps you want to wander off and find something to eat. But don’t go running into that bear again,” Rolfe warned, shaking a finger. Ciceron tried to gently nip at it and the Englishman gave him a pat on the muzzle.

“John, what are we going to do for dinner?” Pocahontas inquired. “I’m starved now. I hate to eat into our food supply but I suppose I could make hominy porridge with dried fish.”

John Rolfe sighed. “I suppose we’ve got no choice. Our suckling pig is long gone and I think it’s too dark for either of us to try hunting,” he expressed, cleaning off the rapier. He returned it to its scabbard on Ciceron’s saddle and then started to unstrap the whole saddle. The Englishman pulled the thing off as well as the blanket under it and laid both on the ground nearby. Lastly, he removed the horse’s bridle which seemed to give the stallion immense relief. “There you go, my friend. Now’s a good time as any to air out that fur after a long day of traveling, eh?”

Ciceron snorted again and trotted off into the forest to find some grasses to munch on. “Don’t go too far, Ciceron!” Juanito called after him. Both the Spaniard and the Brit’s stomachs growled loudly in unison and they exchanged glances. Juanito had an expectant look in his eye.

“Time to make dinner then,” John Rolfe uttered in Spanish. He helped Pocahontas set up the ceramic pot and get out the ingredients. Soon a nice hot porridge was boiling over the campfire. Rolfe caught Juanito Ponce de León licking his lips as he stared at it. “Señor, might I ask how long it’s been since you last had something to eat?” he inquired.

Juanito’s face fell. “The last time I had anything substantial was at least three days ago. Just berries and insects since then,” he loathsomely admitted, sulking. “Sometimes I envy Ciceron because he’s always got food all around him! If only we men could digest raw plants easily.”

“Ha!” John Rolfe replied. “Well I bet they would taste terrible!”

“Ciceron seems to like them,” remarked the Spaniard.

John Rolfe intertwined his fingers thoughtfully as he watched Juanito. “Tell me. Do you speak English at all, señor?” he inquired, not wanting to have to translate for Pocahontas if possible.

“My English is very poor,” the Spaniard admitted.

“Ah.”

Juanito sat up straight. “But I can speak Portuguese.”

“Well I can’t and neither can Pocahontas, sorry,” John Rolfe replied.

“Can you untie me now?”

John Rolfe shook his head. “I’ll untie you when the food is ready. But, believe you me, I’ll be watching you like a hawk the whole time,” he warned. “Even so I don’t think of you as a prisoner but as a charge. I’ll hand you right over to your family in Virginia when we arrive.”

“A charge?” Juanito repeated, not understanding.

“That’s right,” John Rolfe shot back. “I don’t mean to sound patronizing, good señor, but it is clear as day to me that you are not of sound mind and therefore pose a danger to yourself and others. I can’t let you wander off by yourself and leave you to your own devices.”

The Spaniard’s face suddenly turned red with anger. “I’m not loco! You are loco!”

“I didn’t say you were loco, only senile,” Rolfe answered back. “You pointed your guns at us after all. Even if neither were loaded, you had no need to threaten us to start with. We are peaceful folk, both Pocahontas and myself,” he explained. The aforementioned woman glanced over when she heard her name and raised a brow at the Spanish conversation.

“¡No! You are Inglés! That makes you the enemy! I can tell from your accent, muchacho.”

John Rolfe rolled his eyes. “Just because our nations don’t currently get along doesn’t mean you and I have to be enemies. I have nothing against individual Spaniards based solely on their heritage. That would be small-minded and very ill-bred— so said my father. I am a diplomat by trade, you see. A peacemaker. If I could make peace between Spain and England right now, I would do it. But that problem is much too big for one man to handle. I—”

“You’re starting to bore me,” Juanito interrupted, yawning.

John Rolfe got an eyeful of the old man’s maw and noticed that he did not have very many teeth left. The Englishman began to wonder how Juanito Ponce de León even intended to eat the suckling pig that he had tried to steal in the first place. Fortunately the aged Spaniard would have no problem with the mushy porridge. Even the dried fish would be softened through the boiling process. Rolfe snorted and turned his attention back to the fire, poking at the coals. “Sorry, didn’t mean to prattle,” he retorted in a snooty tone. Juanito merely snorted back at Rolfe and watched the pot of porridge, fidgeting impatiently as he waited for it to boil.

John Rolfe let out an aggravated sigh and Pocahontas did not fail to notice. “You okay, John?”

“He’s just… very stubborn,” Rolfe told her in English. “And fairly unreasonable, I would say.” Pocahontas replied with a chuckle. “What’s so funny?” Rolfe protested. “I’m still not happy he lost our piglet! Imagine how delicious it would’ve been. Now all we’ve got is porridge.”

“He sounds just like his brother. Poncito de León is a very stubborn man. But he has become more reasonable since he met Ugwumpah. I can actually have a normal conversation with him now,” Pocahontas giggled, using a hand to cover the silly grin on her face.

John Rolfe frowned. “Great! Now we’ve got to find the good señor a lady friend to cure his eccentricities. I don’t see any nice old ladies around here so it would seem an impossible task.”

“Look at the bright side, John. Now that we’ve got three people I can hunt larger game without being wasteful, plus we have that lovely stallion to carry the extra meat for us,” Pocahontas pointed out, leaning over to plant a kiss on John Rolfe’s cheek.

Rolfe’s eyes widened slightly. “You’re going to hunt large game? Please be careful, love. Big animals can hurt people and I wouldn’t want to see you get injured… again.” Suddenly he had the impulse to bang his head against a tree. “Oh, if only I could help you! But I know I’ll only make too much noise and frighten off the critters. Why me?” he lamented.

Pocahontas gave him a pat on the back. “Just be patient with yourself. You learn fast. We were going to get you started after dinner anyway, remember?” she reminded him.

John Rolfe crossed his arms over his chest and continued to pout yet he gave her a nod. “Fine.” The porridge was ready to eat twenty minutes later. John Rolfe took Juanito’s sword and scabbard, sitting on them to prevent the Spaniard from trying to use his weapon to escape.

“Be careful with that! It is a prized heirloom belonging to my father and his father before him!” Juanito protested. Rolfe adjusted his position so he was not putting too much weight on it. He had Pocahontas untie the old man’s bindings as Rolfe himself served the porridge in five bowls, one for Meeko, one for Percy, one for Pocahontas, one for himself, and one for Juanito Ponce de León. The hungry Spaniard greedily gobbled down his portion, nearly burning his tongue in the process, and then held his bowl up for more. “¡Más! I must have más!”

John Rolfe held up the ladle teasingly. “What’s the magic word?” he asked in a sing-song voice.

Juanito Ponce de León drew his brows together and groaned. _“¿Por favor?”_

“Correct,” Rolfe replied, graciously filling up the bowl again. When the meal was done and every drop of porridge gone, the old Spaniard still wanted to eat more. “I’m sorry, señor, but we’ve got to conserve our food supply. We’ll eat again in the morning. Now if you want breakfast, you’re going to let me bind your hands again without a fight. Understand?”

Juanito looked petulant but he knew he would be lying to himself if he claimed he did not want breakfast. He snorted angrily. _“Fine…”_ he uttered below his breath just as Ciceron returned from his foraging. The stallion looked expectantly at John Rolfe.

“Ah, my equine friend. Let me prepare a place to sleep for you and your master,” Rolfe began. “Right after I’m done with this,” he said, taking a rope to Juanito. The aged Spaniard offered up his hands but turned away. Rolfe tied his wrists together and also used a smaller twine to tie each individual finger to the one on the opposite hand as well, effectively taking away the old man’s basic motor skills. “There. Not to tight and not too loose.” Juanito snorted. Rolfe turned his attention to the piles of autumn leaves that he and Pocahontas had swept aside to make the fire pit. He raked them together with a long forked branch into a bed big enough for a horse. Then he lightly patted the surface. “Don’t know if you’ll like this as much as hay but it should keep you comfortable enough, fellow,” he proclaimed as the horse walked over, sniffing the leaves.

Ciceron ate some of them and stepped onto the bed, snuffling around. Gradually he folded his front legs beneath his body and laid down, getting comfortable. “I think he likes it,” Pocahontas remarked with a giggle. She came over to allow the horse to smell her hand and then she gave him a pat on the nose. “Time for your first archery lesson, John?”

“In a minute,” John Rolfe replied. “The señor looks tired. I want to help him get bunked down first.” He used the branch to make a smaller bed with the remaining leaves and then spread out a wool blanket from the Spaniard’s own supply on top of it. He stuffed more leaves under one end to form a pillow. Meanwhile Pocahontas wandered off to wash the dishes. “Señor de León, come and rest here,” Rolfe announced, ushering him over to the makeshift bed.

The Spaniard was not reluctant to sleep. Without pitching a single argument or even making a snide remark, he trudged over to the leaf bed and all but collapsed on top of it. John Rolfe laid Ciceron’s saddle blanket over him and the old man was snoring in no time flat. Rolfe yawned as Pocahontas returned. “I guess we better keep this brief since you’re tired too,” she remarked with a giggle, pulling Rolfe into a quick embrace. John Rolfe nodded, rubbing his eyes.

It took twenty minutes for Pocahontas to show him how to properly hold the bow and then nock an arrow. At the end of the time, Rolfe successfully shot an arrow into the root of a nearby oak tree. It was not exactly where he was aiming but it was good enough for a beginner. Pocahontas washed off her camouflage. Then they called it a night and went to sleep.

…

Pocahontas rose at the crack of dawn determined to hunt for venison. The deer were active at this time and she knew it. John Rolfe awoke as well from the noise she was making as she prepared for the hunt. She was out for a good hour and a half before she came back empty-handed, having only seen does and fawns. Rolfe noticed the disappointment on her face. Fortunately he had been successful in procuring a sack of chinquapin nuts, one of Pocahontas’s favorites. Combined with a few wild blackberries and venison jerky, they made a superb breakfast. Juanito seemed to have trouble eating the jerky though as it was all pretty tough and required a lot of chewing.

After breakfast was over, Pocahontas and John Rolfe packed up all the supplies onto Ciceron’s back. Though the rucksacks had been pretty heavy to them, the weight was practically nothing to the strapping stallion. Rolfe tied a loose rope bridle around the horse’s head and neck and used it to lead Ciceron through the forest. He kept the rapier strapped to his own belt so Juanito could not just hop up on the horse while nobody was looking and make off with all their stuff. His attachment to the rapier made it clear that he would never leave it behind. Interestingly enough, the group was able to travel much further that day with the horse’s assistance.

Juanito Ponce de León complained quite a lot about not being allowed to ride his own horse. He constantly bellyached that his back, legs, and feet were aching though he seemed to have no trouble keeping up with everyone else. Ultimately John Rolfe chose to ignore the Spaniard’s petty grievances. The Englishman kept a close watch over the old man the whole day, waiting for any sign indicating that Juanito might be intending to flee.

For lunch, Pocahontas, John Rolfe, and Juanito ate leftover chinquapin nuts and dried berries. Pocahontas, Rolfe, and Percy enjoyed dried fish as well. Meeko found a tree of tasty acorns and he stuffed himself full. Once the chinquapin nuts were gone, Pocahontas used the empty sack to collect acorns for a stew later. In the evening, they reached another branch of a river. Pocahontas attached a line to one of her arrows and began taking shots at the jumping fish. Meanwhile Rolfe and Juanito traveled upriver to avoid disturbing the fish that Pocahontas was trying to catch. Because wildlife was so prolific around waterways, Rolfe took it upon himself to try to catch something with nothing but his bare hands and a big, empty sack. He removed all of his clothes except his knickers and trousers, wading into the water quietly despite the chill. Conditions were ideal because the cold made the snapping turtles on a nearby log very lethargic. Ambushing them from underwater, he was able to catch three large ones in the sack without getting bitten.

Juanito had remained on the bank with a ceramic pot collecting blackberries. He found it difficult to resist the temptation to taunt the Englishman. It was the thought of turtle soup that ultimately prevented him from doing so as the Spaniard had not wanted to scare off the game. With three live turtles in a sack and a potful of berries, Rolfe and Juanito returned to camp and the former built a fire. Percy was the only one there as Ciceron was off foraging on his own and Meeko and Flit had followed Pocahontas to the river. The pug started sniffing around the sack and yelped when it suddenly moved. “Don’t get too close, Percy. Those turtles bite,” Rolfe said.

Juanito started to get impatient as John Rolfe tended the flames and paid the turtles no mind. “When are you going to start cooking those?” he inquired, pointing to the sack of snappers.

Rolfe blinked in surprise and gazed down at the sack. The opening was tied closed with twine to prevent the creatures’ escape. “I suppose I’ll help Pocahontas do that when she gets back.”

“Well you should clean and butcher them now so they’ll be ready when she arrives!” Juanito Ponce de León fervently proposed, brandishing a fist.

John Rolfe felt his face flush slightly. “I… well… you see, I can’t just… it… I…”

“What are you getting all tongue-tied for, muchacho?” chided the Spaniard. “I asked you to do a simple task! Come on, I’m starving!” he proclaimed.

Rolfe felt his face redden even more. “I… I don’t really know how to, well, clean a dead animal yet…” he finally admitted. “I-I was going to ask Pocahontas to show me when she got back.”

Juanito’s face went blank before he burst into raucous laughter moments later, pointing at John Rolfe in a taunting manner. “You call yourself a man? What kind of man relies on a woman for such things? Ha ha ha ha ha! That is man work, amigo! I’ll bet the moment you get home, she tosses you aside for a warrior who knows what the heck he’s doing outside of London!”

John Rolfe drew his brows together. “No!” he protested. “She loves me! And I can learn how to do it. I’m not stupid, just inexperienced!” he shot back. Percy started to growl at Juanito.

“If you don’t yet know something as basic as how to butcher an animal, then you’re in dire straights, boy,” Juanito retorted. “You’re a fop, aren’t you? A real popinjay. Oh, look, it’s tea time with the king.” He mimed the act of holding a teacup and saucer, extending his pinky in the air as he took a ‘sip.’ “You Brits make me laugh! Can you even load and shoot a rifle?”

John Rolfe felt more blood rush to his face, this time in anger. “Of course I can! My father taught me how to do _that_ ,” he snapped back. “So you can laugh all you want, you old maggot. Just because you know some things that I haven’t had the chance to learn yet doesn’t make you better than I am—any more than it makes the native warriors around here better than me. I’m excellent at what I do. In fact, I’ve been favored by King James in the very recent past. He even offered me a position as Lord Advisor to the Royal Court! Can you claim such social popularity?”

“If he offered you such a position, what in the world are you doing out here?” Juanito inquired. The question sounded more like honest curiosity than an attempt at ridicule.

John Rolfe groaned. “I came back here because I fell in love. I fully intend to ask Pocahontas’s father for her hand in marriage and, if I can, spend the rest of my life with her. That’s why I am here. My heart overruled my duty to the king,” he proudly revealed.

Juanito snorted. “And you think a native woman’s red-skinned father would hand over his beloved daughter to a white milksop because…? If he has any degree of competence as a parent, the first thing he’ll do when you ask him is laugh right in your face! Pff, can’t even clean a carcass. You just wait and see my prediction come true, you silly pantywaist! At least let me clean the turtles if you’re too chicken heart to do it yourself!”

“Like I’d give you a knife! If you’re so damn impatient, then why don’t you get up off your backside and go collect some more firewood! That ought to distract you from your insatiable hunger. Go on, go! I’ve had enough of you for now!” John Rolfe snapped, waving the annoying Spaniard off. Juanito did not cease to chuckle as he got up and wandered off into the woods. Rolfe was relieved when he was finally gone. Despite the brave face he had put on against the old man’s taunts, his confidence had taken a severe hit underneath the surface.

Even the kisses and praises that Pocahontas gave John Rolfe for his success in catching the turtles was not enough to lift him out of his funk. When she returned, she was very pleased with him indeed because she herself had only managed to catch a single fish with the bow. If only she had thought to bring along a fishing net. Unfortunately she had overlooked it in the rush to pack. Percy walked over and licked the back of John Rolfe’s right hand, whimpering slightly. Even Meeko and Flit seemed to notice his mood. Pocahontas was carefully untying the twine around the neck of the turtle sack when Rolfe cleared his throat. “Um, Pocahontas. I… S-seeing that there are three whole turtles in there, I thought it would save time if you were to instruct me on how to clean the carcass of one while you’re working on another. I mean, I need to learn how to do that sooner or later…” he bashfully uttered, his stomach filling with butterflies.

Juanito returned with another bundle of logs and set it on the pile. Then he plopped down on the opposite side of the fire from the other two. He glanced at Rolfe and then snickered. Pocahontas smiled, hardly taking notice of the old man. “Yes, that would be great. Otherwise this might take a while and I’m pretty hungry.” She reached in her pack and pulled out two obsidian knives, handing one to Rolfe, and got out her machete. Then she stuck a stick into the opening of the sack. One of the turtles clamped on and she pulled it out by the jaws. “Now the first thing you want to do is cut off the turtle’s head to kill it. I’m going to use my machete for that because it’ll cut right through the bone,” she explained, using her hand to approach the turtle’s head from behind. She quickly clamped its jaws shut with her fingers. “Be very careful. Their bite is strong enough to take off fingers and the head can still bite after it’s severed.”

John Rolfe suddenly looked horrified. “The head can WHAT after it’s severed?! Are you serious?” he cried. This task was already creeping him out though he had not even started yet.

“Bite,” Pocahontas simply replied. She held the turtle’s head in her left hand and the machete in her right. Then she began to saw the snapper’s head off at a rapid pace. John Rolfe was tempted to squeeze his eyes shut and look away but the Spaniard was watching from the other side of the fire, a wide grin on his face. Rolfe could not give him the satisfaction. He forced himself to look as Pocahontas sawed through the vertebrae. There was surprisingly little blood and the animal itself did not seem to protest much. Perhaps it simply had not gotten a chance before its intelligence centers had been separated from its body. It had been pretty lethargic from the cold too. Pocahontas handed the machete to John Rolfe and stuck the stick back into the sack, pulling out a second turtle. “This one is yours. Remove the head just like I showed you.”

John Rolfe swallowed hard as he looked at the snapping turtle, then at the machete, and back at the snapping turtle. He took a deep breath and grabbed the snapper by its long tail, pulling it towards him. The animal tried to crawl away so Rolfe was forced to pin it to the ground with one of his legs. He grabbed its head in the same way that Pocahontas had shown him. “Like this?” he uttered, receiving a nod. He took another deep breath, forcing the bile back down. The last thing he wanted to do was vomit in front of the old man. It would only confirm everything the aged Spaniard had previously said about him. _I’m not a milksop, I’m not a milksop, I’m not a milksop, I’m not a milksop, I’m not a milksop,_ he repeated to himself as he wound the machete back, preparing to chop. He gave into the temptation to squeeze his eyes shut.

“No, no, no! John, stop!” Pocahontas cried, grabbing his wrist with both hands. “You don’t chop. Your other hand is too close to the target. Think about it, you could easily lop some fingers off!”

John Rolfe opened his eyes and met her gaze. His face flushed. “Oh?… Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“It’s alright, John. Here, let me show you,” Pocahontas replied. She took hold of his wrist and slowly guided his hand until the blade of the machete was resting on the snapper’s neck just below its skull. “Now from here, you want to saw rapidly back and forth. Focus more on speed than pressure, like when you’re trying to start a fire with a bow drill.”

John Rolfe heaved in a breath. “O-okay…” He paused. “Okay, I’m going to start now. In five, four, three, two… ONE!” Rolfe rapidly drew the machete back and forth, pulling the turtle’s head away from its body with his left hand as he felt it quickly come loose. He did not stop until the head was completely off. Then he let out the breath he had been holding.

Pocahontas took the turtle’s head from him and set it aside. “Okay you can put down the machete now,” she said, picking up an obsidian blade. She returned her attention to her own turtle and flipped it onto its back. The legs immediately started kicking.

John Rolfe yelped in a high-pitched voice, pointing at the moving turtle carcass. “It’s alive! How can it be alive? It hasn’t got a head!” he bellowed, having been set on edge by the killing.

The Spaniard burst into discordant laughter and pointed at John Rolfe but Pocahontas did not seem to notice. “Oh. Sorry, John. I forgot to warn you. Turtles are kind of weird. They keep moving after you kill them,” she explained. “Okay now the next step is to cut the feet off. Be mindful of the claws, they can scratch you,” she warned. Rolfe managed to calm down and Pocahontas continued to walk him through the process until all the meat was separated from the turtleshell. Rolfe was surprised and relieved when the guts did not pop out like he had expected them to. He was reminded of the bosun gutting Ka-Okee’s mother. The task was still disgusting to him but he got through it. Rolfe and Pocahontas killed and butchered the third turtle together.

They used the smallest turtle, the fish, and the acorns to make the dinner stew. Pocahontas, John Rolfe, Juanito Ponce de León, Meeko, and Percy ate every last bit of it. Then Pocahontas used the rain cover to smoke the remaining turtle meat—of which there was a fair amount. By the time the meat was smoking, the Spaniard had gone to bed along with Meeko, Percy, and Flit. Rolfe raked together a bed for Ciceron who soon returned from grazing. Then the Englishman curled up in his bedroll to go to sleep. Pocahontas did the dishes before falling asleep herself.

…

The next nine days passed fairly uneventfully. Pocahontas’s success in hunting was erratic but Rolfe always took the opportunity after dinner to practice with the bow. He had no concept of how to even begin to shoot accurately. Pocahontas showed him how to aim but she told him only experience would improve his accuracy after that. It had been the same when Rolfe was learning to shoot a rifle in his youth so he did not protest despite being extremely frustrated.

The main problem they were having was that food supplies were running low. John Rolfe and Pocahontas had been forced to rely on the powdered corn, jerky, nuts, and dried fruits that they had brought from Siwili’s village. They needed to find a way to refill on supplies, either by finding a friendly village or by hunting large game. The weather had suddenly snapped cold again, forcing Pocahontas and John Rolfe to wear their winter clothes as they traveled. The cold weather limited their foraging options severely which only compounded the food scarcity issue. Fortunately Juanito had some clothes of his own though he still felt cold much of the time.

With the air crisp and frosty, the group continued the journey through heavily forested lands. The further north they traveled, the rockier the terrain became and the less even. The group came upon a ravine through which a small stream ran. They were forced to unload the supplies from Ciceron’s back. Then John Rolfe rode the horse, directing him to jump over the ravine. The others used a bridge formed by a fallen tree trunk to get across. It just so happened while they were on the move one afternoon that Pocahontas spotted movement atop an enormous protruding boulder that poked out of the forest’s trees and shrubs like a great beacon.

Pocahontas hushed the group and told them to hide while she took her bow and quiver, slinking off through the forest. John Rolfe and the others waited patiently. Twenty minutes had passed before they heard anything. The first thing they did hear was the loud cry of some distressed large animal. A few moments later, Pocahontas called out to them, “John! Bring Ciceron over here, I need him to help me drag this moose out of the bushes!”

John Rolfe’s heart sped up immediately. A moose? Moose were enormous animals. If Pocahontas had really killed one, then they would be set on food for at least a week if not two. Rolfe quickly removed the supplies from Ciceron’s back. “Coming, love! I’m just unloading him first!” He quickly lead the horse up the hill and around some thickets until he found Pocahontas standing by some tall shrubbery. He discovered the fallen moose on the ground between two shrubs, an arrow piercing its heart. “Pocahontas,” Rolfe stated plainly as he tied a couple ropes to Ciceron’s saddle. He handed the ends to Pocahontas. “Have I ever told you how amazing you are?”

“I caught him totally unawares. It was easier than I thought it was going to be,” Pocahontas revealed, excited and enthusiastic about the kill. “Cleaning this carcass is going to be a big job though. I will need your help to do it. And look at this beautiful coat! It’ll make a luxurious blanket.” She took the ropes and pulled the moose’s head out of the shrubs by its enormous antlers, tying the ropes securely to said antlers. “Okay, it’s ready.”

Pocahontas helped to hold some branches aside as John Rolfe directed Ciceron to drag the dead moose out onto open ground. Juanito, Meeko, Percy, and Flit came to check out the kill. The Spaniard’s mouth hung open in disbelief. “¡Caramba! I can’t believe a mere woman took this great beast down all by herself!” he cried in Spanish.

“Pocahontas is no ‘mere’ woman,” John Rolfe retorted, flashing a sly grin.

The moose was immensely heavy. Pocahontas, John Rolfe, and Juanito all three needed to help to flip the beast onto its back. “I’m going to need my machete for this,” Pocahontas remarked. “John, take Ciceron and go fetch all the supplies,” she instructed.

No sooner had she made the request than Rolfe was off to fulfill the duty. He and Ciceron returned a few minutes later, the horse’s back draped with their luggage. “Are we making camp here tonight then?” he inquired, receiving a nod from Pocahontas. He took all the supplies off of Ciceron’s back and leaned them against nearby trees. Then he removed the saddle and halter and let the horse off early to roam the woods in search of edible vegetation.

Pocahontas sharpened her machete and they got to work skinning the animal. Once the moose was mostly flayed, Pocahontas made a slit straight down the belly and cut around the genitals. The guts immediately popped into view which nearly made John Rolfe hurl. He forced himself to endure only because the Spaniard was right there watching him from the other side of the carcass. It was even worse when Pocahontas requested Rolfe’s help in cutting out the organs. He actually had to reach his forearms into the body cavity and touch them. As per Pocahontas’s instruction, he was careful not to pierce any organs for fear that bile, urine or some other nasty substance would spew into his face. It was tedious work and very straining, plus it took a long time. Pocahontas saved the liver and heart, discarding the rest of the organs. In her village, they would have used the offal but they were still stuck in the wild with no means or time for making things out of the organs. After the insides had been removed, Pocahontas and the others rolled the moose on its side and let the blood drain out. Pocahontas and John Rolfe butchered the animal by cutting the meat off the bones. Because of the sheer size of the moose, they did not have the equipment necessary to saw through its big hard bones.

John Rolfe sent Juanito on a mission to create a fire pit, build a fire therein, and collect firewood in preparation for smoking the moose meat. All the vigorous activity prevented anyone from getting cold. Pocahontas and John Rolfe were both able to remove their coats entirely while they worked. It took the rest of the day and night to both butcher and smoke the moose meat. Two different fires were required. Pocahontas washed all the blood and dirt off the hide before using it to smoke the meat. Then they feasted heartily before bedtime and eventually fell asleep between the warm fires as half the meat smoked wrapped in its own skin and the other half smoked wrapped in the hide rain cover Rolfe and Pocahontas had brought with them.


	21. The Dangers of Good Fortune

****Two days had passed since Pocahontas had killed the moose. The group was making excellent progress on the journey northeast although John Rolfe had begun to worry that they might be going too far north. If they traveled past Virginia without realizing it, they would be in serious trouble and totally lost. But Pocahontas habitually went wherever the wind took her. It was her intuitive sense that the spirits were trying to tell her to go further north—perhaps because it would be the most expedient route to get home. The weather had been cold but dry. This changed that very night. Pocahontas and the others were fast asleep at their campsite when freezing rain started to fall quite unexpectedly, giving them all a very rude wake up call.

They rushed to pack up as quickly as possible and then John Rolfe lead Ciceron and the others to a place at a lower elevation where a massive flat boulder protruded horizontally out of a tall bluff. It created a roof-like shelter. The group managed to make it there just in time to avoid a hailstorm. Fortunately part of the overhang was high enough for even Ciceron to find shelter from the painful pelting of the storm. It was to their good fortune that the boulder was in a heavily littered part of the forest because it was down a hill from numerous overarching trees. Branches, leaves, and grasses had naturally accumulated in the area, providing plenty of fire fuel. Most of the trees in the forest were bare by now or close to it, making the forest look starker than ever. Rolfe shivered as he raked up a leaf bed for Ciceron to sleep on.

Pocahontas, John Rolfe, and Juanito Ponce de León built a fire and dried their things out as much as possible. The Spaniard was particularly cold because his clothes and other things were mostly made of fabrics and not waterproof hide. He was soaked through but Rolfe spent extra time helping him dry his belongings out. It was a little crowded under the overhang. Once their bedrolls were dry enough to put down, John Rolfe and Pocahontas had to lay them out right next to each other over a bed of crunchy autumn leaves. They were forced to huddle together to make room for everyone else, especially the horse. With the moose hide draped fur side down over his back, Ciceron had managed to stay mostly dry since the skin acted as a rain barrier. The stallion was relaxing on his leaf bed in no time, chewing on some adjacent dry grasses.

John Rolfe sat up to get everyone’s attention once the chaos had calmed down. “It’s become clear to me that the weather is only going to get worse and worse from here on out. We may have some good days here and there. Regardless we will strive to make camp in natural shelters wherever we can find them from now on,” he announced, speaking loudly so that he could be heard over the noise of the hailstorm. Pocahontas, Meeko, Percy, and Flit nodded and then Rolfe repeated himself in Spanish for Juanito. The Spaniard shrugged.

Pocahontas started to shiver. “J-John, I’m cold,” she chattered, sitting behind him with her back to the cold hard stone wall. Her lips were turning a dull color. “I d-didn’t want to interrupt while you were helping J-Juanito but now I’m f-freezing.” Meeko cooed at her worriedly. Percy started to whine as he did his best to lick his fur dry, chilled to the bone as well.

John Rolfe moved Percy closer to the fire. He pulled Pocahontas over him so that she was closer too, effectively switching places with her. Reaching over her, he threw a few more pieces of dry wood and bark on the flames. “Did the rain penetrate your clothes?” Rolfe inquired.

“Y-yes, I discovered a hole in the back of my hood when the rain started. Ice-c-cold water was r-running down my back the whole time we were searching for this shelter. I need to s-sew it up in the morning,” Pocahontas replied, starting to feel a little warmer.

John Rolfe felt at the back of her hood, finding the gaping hole. It seemed that some stitches had somehow come loose or snapped. “Take your coat off, love.” Pocahontas sat up and Rolfe helped her remove her overclothes. He turned the coat inside out and tied it to the overhanging rocks by the sleeves so the fire would dry it out. Pocahontas felt even colder without it. Rolfe felt along her upper back. Her doeskin undershirt and buckskin dress beneath that had gotten soaked in the back as well. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” Rolfe proposed. “I’m going to take off my coat and hold up a blanket for you to change into it. Crawl over me again,” he instructed, unbuttoning the front of his buckskin coat. He yanked it off and set it behind him.

“Won’t you be c-cold?” Pocahontas inquired.

John Rolfe shook his head. “Not as cold as you. My clothes are dry on the inside.”

Pocahontas nodded and climbed over him again. He put his coat in her lap and took a blanket, holding it up like a curtain. Pocahontas removed her undershirt and buckskin dress, shivering in the cold momentarily before she quickly pulled on John Rolfe’s toasty-warm man-sized coat. It smelled just like him and seemed to wrap her up in Rolfe’s very essence. She quickly buttoned it up. “Okay, I’m done,” she announced, pushing her way past the privacy blanket. She climbed back over Rolfe. He then wrapped the blanket around her as she laid down by the fire.

The Englishman took her damp garments and put them by the fire to dry. Meeko came over and curled up in front of Pocahontas’s chest whereas Percy curled up at her feet. She hugged Meeko for further warmth. The wind howled furiously above the rocky shelter, the hailstones seeming to double in size. _“What crazy weather,”_ John Rolfe mumbled to himself.

Pocahontas could swear she was hearing things in the wind. Things that reminded her of the storm at sea when the _Blood Draw_ had attacked their humble supply vessel. She could hear war cries and screams of terror. A much more sinister presence than her mother’s spirit controlled the wind now. Pocahontas’s heart thundered in her ears and she shivered, this time in fear, sensing the angry spirits tearing through the atmosphere. “John, I’m scared,” she uttered, watching the hailstones outside fall harder and harder as if trying to shatter the very earth itself. Thunder and lightening split the sky and echoed in far off places. A tree could be heard cracking and then falling to the ground. When the impact rattled the earth beneath them, Ciceron whinnied in fright but did not dare leave the shelter. Meeko, Percy, and Flit hid under the blankets.

“Of the weather?” John Rolfe inquired. Pocahontas nodded. “Well we’re safe where we are right now. Don’t worry, love. The storm will pass. Weather this intense never lasts too terribly long.” Pocahontas still felt distressed and it showed on her face. Rolfe ran his fingers through her moist hair, spreading it out so the fire would dry it faster. “Just try to get some rest. I’ll bet it’s all over in the morning,” he said in a calming voice. "Have you always been afraid of storms?”

Pocahontas shook her head. She knew if she let herself fall into a sleepy state, she would very likely have nightmares. The Powhatan woman released an afflicted sigh and put her fingers in her ears to block out the terrible noise from the storm. She ended up rolling over and burying her face in John Rolfe’s chest instead. Just as she expected, he caressed her and spoke soothing words. She wrapped her arms around his middle and listened to his heartbeat. Against her better judgment, she found herself drifting off to sleep. She was just too exhausted to stay awake.

“I’m sure the lady’s father would _love_ to know how close you are to her right now and while she was changing garments,” remarked the ornery old man in Spanish. “I can hardly wait to meet him.” He grinned at John Rolfe from across the fire, displaying one or two visible teeth.

The comment immediately came across to John Rolfe as a threat and he gazed back at the Spaniard with a cross look on his face. “I’m sorry but are you offended by my existence somehow? You clearly seem to have it in for me and I’m not entirely sure why,” he retorted.

“I told you before, muchacho! You are Inglés! But that is irrelevant. I would only be telling the truth anyway,” Juanito Ponce de León shot back. “You _are_ really close to her.”

Rolfe drew his brows together. “She’s cold and frightened. What do you expect me to do? ‘No, Pocahontas, I can't help you not freeze to death because that would be entirely improper’? Oh yes! I’m sure the chief would be thrilled with me if I dragged his daughter home frozen solid in a block of ice. Are you kidding me? He’d have my head!”

The Spaniard's eyes widened in shock. “Did you just say ‘chief’?"

“Yes,” Rolfe returned. “Pocahontas’s father is the paramount chief of over thirty tribes in the Virginia tidewater area. He's not a man to be trifled with. If I dare to bring his daughter home dead or in poor condition, he will _not_ be impressed. Do you understand my meaning, Spaniard?”

Juanito made the sign of the cross over his chest. “Nice knowing you, hombre. If it's a chief you’re dealing with, you're in even bigger trouble than I thought.”

“And what makes you say that? You don't know him!” Rolfe retorted.

“I have been exploring this land since long before you were born, chico. I know chiefs well enough, especially the powerful ones. If you so much as look at their women the wrong way, they will cleave your skull in two. Happened to a dear friend of mine decades back. If you had any sense of self-preservation at all, you would heed my words and withdraw your offer of marriage to that woman right away,” Juanito warned.

John Rolfe frowned. “Well I’m sorry about what happened to your friend but you can't group all chiefs together like that. Every human being is different. Pocahontas’s father is not a cruel man. You are blowing this way out of proportion based on your own bad experiences.”

The Spaniard laughed. “It’s your funeral, muchacho. You think I care? I’ll delight in informing Señor Chief of every detail of what I’ve seen here. I tell it like it is, hombre.”

John Rolfe scoffed. “Somehow I doubt that. Somehow I am certain that you would heavily exaggerate every detail and aim to make me look as bad as possible. That seems highly likely to me. And all because you hate the English. Good grief, what amazing superhuman feat would I have to perform to actually make you like me?” he exclaimed.

Juanito propped himself up on an elbow and rubbed his bearded chin as he genuinely seemed to consider the question. “Hm, I’d say you would have to become non-English. Think you can pull that off, muchacho?” the Spaniard sarcastically proposed. In response, John Rolfe could do nothing but roll his eyes and let out an aggravated sigh. Pocahontas rolled over and stretched, facing toward the fire. Rolfe leaned over her to throw another few sticks on the flames, pulling back when he was done. All of a sudden she reached back and groped around for his hand. When she found it, she pulled Rolfe closer to her into a spooning position. With a surprised expression, he glanced up at Juanito in time to see the old man mouth the words, _“I’m telling…”_

John Rolf started to get worried. The Spaniard could blow his plan to withhold the knowledge of their love for a while to give Chief Powhatan time to get to know him. Rolfe feared what would happen if that came to pass. How would the chief react to that information before he was ready to hear it? The last thing Rolfe wanted was to be chased out of Virginia by an angry father who had been lead to believe that his daughter’s honor had been compromised. Rolfe breathed in a sharp inhale and glared at Juanito. “Listen to me, Spaniard. I would never dishonor a woman. Not any woman. Not even one who’s honor had already been severely compromised by numerous other men. And if you think I’m going to let you spread lies and ruin our reputations in Virginia, you’ve got another thing coming. I’ll have you locked up in a lunatic asylum if I have to. I’m starting to think that’s what would be best for you anyways. Now stop undermining every single thing I’ve worked for and go to sleep for goodness sake!” he barked.

Juanito's eyes widened and he gave John Rolfe a dirty look, cowed by the threat. He snorted and rolled over, trying to fall asleep. Rolfe gently pulled his hand out of Pocahontas’s grip and poked the fire with a long stick. Then he used a flat piece of bark to fan the flames, keeping her warm and cozy. Another enormous tree fell somewhere outside of his visual range, giving Rolfe a start. Pocahontas did not seem to wake up though. Rolfe pulled a buckskin blanket over the both of them and snuggled beside Pocahontas, trying to fall asleep himself.

…

_Pocahontas found herself walking through a strange dark landscape with great bushes, trees, and rolling hills for as far as the eye could see. The Powhatan woman turned in a full circle as her senses piqued to all the stimuli around her. Everything felt so real from the humid mists to the feel of the lush grass on her bare feet to the hum of the nighttime crickets. The trees were bizarre, hung with vines from canopy to root. The distance became a misty blue color as twilight arrived, the peace broken by the sounds of a far-off battle. She turned in the direction of the battle and broke into a run, curiosity spurring her onward faster than dread could ever hope to slow her down. “Whatever it is, I’ll just watch from a distance,” she told herself. “I won’t get near the danger. Maybe there is someone who needs my help. I will do what I can.”_

_She had traveled a long way before she tripped on something squishy, warm, and wet, crying out in startlement as she tumbled to the ground. The ‘thing’ she had stepped on grunted. Pocahontas pushed herself up from the ground and turned her head to discover at what it was. She flipped over onto her backside to find a fallen man of dark skin and broad brow lying on the stained grass, his exposed entrails protruding from his belly. Pocahontas’s mouth hung open at the gruesome scene. When she glanced around, the bright moon highlighted several more bodies lying nearby. The man's weapon and shield laid close but out of his reach. The warrior paid them no mind as he set his penetrating eyes on Pocahontas. “Kill…” he began, interrupted by his own terrible cough. Blood sprayed on the ground beside him. Pocahontas slowly shook her head and started to crawl away from him. He reached weakly out to her with one hand. The other arm appeared to be missing, severed just below the shoulder. The man’s crimson lips trembled as a red sun rose on the horizon right behind him, obscuring his form._

_With terror in her eyes, Pocahontas pushed herself up to her feet. She screamed at the top of her lungs when she felt a hand grab her shoulder, spinning her around to an entirely different scene in the full light of day. The disoriented young woman looked down with vertigo from a tall steep pyramid as someone grabbed her by the hair, forcing her to stumble down a step and onto a platform. Four men were holding a faceless enemy down on an altar. The priest who had been holding Pocahontas by the hair threw her down on the stone floor. She looked up at him with confusion and fear in her eyes. “The blood must be repaid. Watch and learn, girl,” he spoke harshly. The four men stretched the captive out on the altar and the fifth drew an obsidian blade, chanting as he sliced into the captive’s chest vertically. The man screamed as the sacrificer pried his ribcage open and reached inside with both his free hand and the blade._

_Moments later, the priest was holding a still-beating human heart in his hand and the captive had passed out and died from blood loss. The four restrainers tossed the corpse down the steep stairwell which Pocahontas could see was deeply stained with blood all the way to the ground. Bodies had accumulated at the bottom. The priest held the heart up to Pocahontas as she squealed and tried to scramble away. The other men caught her and held her in place before she could escape. “Kill the Spaniard, take his heart, or we will take yours in his place,” the man warned before bursting into wicked laughter. The four men holding onto her suddenly threw her down the stairs after the dead corpse. She screamed as she fell, closing her eyes in terror of hitting the hard stone stairs and/or ground below. Still she could hear the men laughing._

_Before she could hit the ground, she was caught in two strong arms as the laughter vanished. A familiar masculine scent permeated her senses. “Pocahontas, are you alright? What’s happened?” came John Rolfe’s frantic but comforting voice._

_She stopped screaming and opened her eyes to find herself in Rolfe’s embrace. “John!” she cried. They were in some misty otherworldly place. She looked around in confusion. “Where…?”_

_“Pocahontas, wake up,” Rolfe spoke again. “Wake up!”_

Pocahontas opened her eyes a second time to find herself back under the rocky shelter with John Rolfe leaning over her. “John?” she uttered in a rasping voice, her vocal chords raw and sore from screaming. She coughed and tried to move, finding that she was uninjured. Out beyond the rocky eave, Pocahontas could see the morning sky clear and bright. Yet the ground was sheeted in balls of ice from the hailstorm last night. There was no sign of bloodshed anywhere.

“You were screaming in your sleep, love,” Rolfe told her, looking deeply concerned as he ran a few fingers through her hair. “What in the world were you dreaming about?”

“I-I…” Pocahontas began, not knowing how to describe the horrors that she had seen. She had no clue how to explain any of it to John Rolfe as she did not even understand it herself.

Juanito said something in Spanish which Pocahontas did not understand. She glanced over at him as he was tending to his horse Ciceron with an oversized brush. As soon as Pocahontas set eyes on him, the haunting words from the dream came back to her and echoed in the back of her mind, “Kill the Spaniard, take his heart…” Were those angry spirits threatening her? Were they blackmailing her to commit a murder? Why her of all people? She was no killer. And what did they want with Juanito Ponce de León? John Rolfe snapped something angrily back to Juanito, making it sound like they were arguing over something. Pocahontas shook her head and crawled out of bed. In the chill air, she walked out from under the shelter and started to pace. She looked up to the sky again. Those frightful spirits had to be long gone by now. They could not really carry out their threats, could they? They were dead, after all. But they could control the weather!

Pocahontas sighed, filled with confusion. She jumped in startlement when John Rolfe placed a hand on her shoulder. “Pocahontas?” he spoke. She turned to him and looked into his green eyes, seeing the confusion in them. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s wrong? You can tell me,” he indicated, embracing her. It was then she realized she was still wearing his coat.

Pocahontas shook her head. “I-it’s nothing. I just had a nightmare. Can we leave this place now? The sooner we get home, the better,” she expressed, glancing around nervously. Maybe the ghosts would not be able to find her again if they traveled very far. The last thing she was going to do was appease them by harming a feeble old man.

John Rolfe raised a questioning brow, not fully convinced, yet he conceded to her wishes. “Very well. Let’s eat and then get packed,” he proposed. Instead Pocahontas convinced him that they should eat breakfast on the way. She changed back into her own clothes, now dry from the fire’s heat, and returned Rolfe’s coat to him. Before long, they were on the move again.

…

Pocahontas, John Rolfe, and the others traveled in fairly mild weather over the next five days. It was cold and gray most of the time. There were even drizzling rain and sleet but nothing like the hailstorm of days prior. They were running out of food again. It looked like they had a few days left of the moose meat before they would be completely out once more. Pocahontas ground up the softer parts of the dried moose bones to make bone meal, stretching out their food supply as long as possible. The thought of food scarcity made Pocahontas and Rolfe’s anxieties rise. Thus they began to conserve, eating only when they could no longer take the hunger pains. They maintained a balance between conserving food while still traveling a decent distance each day.

Pocahontas had begun looking out for game again but large animals were getting rarer as winter descended upon the forest. One drizzly morning, John Rolfe woke up to a very big and unexpected surprise. He rose to his feet in the cave shelter the group had been occupying and glanced around. Juanito and Ciceron were nowhere to be found. He went to the mouth of the cave and began calling for them. Receiving no answer, he looked down and discovered six enormous letters scraped into the dirt. They spelled out the Spanish word ‘MARICA’ which could roughly be translated to English as ‘milksop,’ ‘pantywaist,’ or ‘coward.’ Whatever way one viewed things, it was a feminizing insult when directed at a male. Rolfe’s eyes widened. He walked over and scribbled the word out of the dirt with the bottom of his boot.

John Rolfe ran back into the cave and checked inside his bedroll for the rapier. It was gone! Somehow the Spaniard had managed to steal back his weapon while everyone was asleep. He even snuck off with his horse and other possessions. The question was did he sneak off with anything else? Rolfe was relieved to find the rucksacks where he had left them the previous night. When he went through them however, he found that every last scrap of food was missing. “Oh no,” he uttered to himself. “Pocahontas, wake up! We’re in trouble!” Rolfe announced. Pocahontas, Meeko, Percy, and Flit rubbed the sleep out of their eyes and sat up. Pocahontas groaned. “It’s Juanito. He’s gone and he’s taken all the food. Somehow he got the rapier back from me. I must have been exhausted because I didn’t wake up at all!” he exclaimed.

Pocahontas gasped. “What about the wild honey jar?” she returned, feeling her heart pounding.

John Rolfe looked in Pocahontas’s travel pack and discovered the jar still there. “It’s still here. He probably didn’t recognize it as food. I don’t think it’ll help us much though,” Rolfe replied.

Pocahontas heaved a huge sigh of relief. “Not for us, John. I always have to keep a supply of honey over the winter so Flit can stay with me. Otherwise he would have to migrate to survive. We’re going to need Flit around now more than ever. He can help us scout out game animals. Where’s my bow? Did Juanito take my bow?” she inquired worriedly, glancing around. She was relieved to find both bow and quiver next to her bedroll where she had left them the previous night. “Oh, thank goodness. Did he take anything else of ours other than the food?”

John Rolfe went through all their stuff again, taking inventory. “He took most of the moose bones,” he revealed. “Oh, and the moose hide is gone. It seems he took your hunting trophy.”

Pocahontas frowned and rose to her feet, rolling up her bedroll. “I’m going to have to go hunting immediately. We don’t have anything for breakfast and that’s not good. I’m hungry. Flit, come with me. I will need help tracking game. John, pray that it doesn’t start to rain or all the animals will disappear,” she told him, gathering up her bow and quiver.

John Rolfe started to get even more worried. If only the hunting was something he could help with. Now the burden of their survival rested entirely on Pocahontas’s shoulders and that was just not fair to her. The Englishman felt a spike of rage at the two-timing Spaniard for leaving them in such a dire predicament. They had been nothing but hospitable to him and yet he had robbed them a second time. In his anger, Rolfe swore that if they ever crossed paths again he would teach the old man a lesson. But there was nothing he could do for the time being.

Pocahontas returned to the cave an hour later with nothing. She looked a terrible combination of hungry and frustrated. It showed on her face. “John, I think we need to get moving. Maybe we’ll get lucky and spot something as we travel. Neither Flit nor I found anything around here that I was able to get close to,” she informed him. Rolfe frowned and felt his stomach gurgle.

“Alright.” He bit his lip, feeling at fault for the Spaniard’s escape. If only he were not such a deep sleeper, he might have been able to prevent this. “I’m sorry about this, Pocahontas.” They packed up the remainder of their items and loaded their rucksacks onto their backs for the first time in over a week. As they were wearing all their winter clothes and were bereft of food, the packs were extremely light. They hiked onward, determining the easterly position of the sun through the gray clouds. Rolfe noticed that Pocahontas’s face was cast downward as they walked. He bit his lower lip and started to pray to God for food—not for his own sake but for Pocahontas’s. Unfortunately the whole day passed without any hunting success.

When the sun went down, Pocahontas and John Rolfe knew it was too late to hunt and they were forced to go to bed hungry. Percy whined and Meeko did his best at foraging on his own, finding barely enough acorns to satisfy his own hunger. Flit was fortunate to have the supply of honey but he worried intensely for the health of his friends. The daylong famine had severely affected their energy levels. Though they had traveled far, it was nowhere near the distance they had been traveling in the days prior. They were fortunate to find a grove protected from the poor weather. The cold was affecting them all much more than usual. It crept into their bones, forcing them to huddle together for warmth. Despite his intense fatigue and hunger pains, Rolfe built a fire to help stave off the cold in the air. Snuggled together in a bed of dry leaves and with all their clothes, blankets, and even rucksacks layered on top of them, they were able to stay just warm enough to sleep through the night. Yet their sleep was nowhere near as restful as usual.

The night was coldest just before the crack of dawn. John Rolfe awoke to find his breath visible in the air. Even as close as he was to the others, he was still slightly chilled. “Pocahontas,” Rolfe spoke in a rasping voice, clearing his dry throat. “I think we need to get moving now. Isn’t the game normally pretty active at this time in the morning?”

Pocahontas groaned, almost too tired to move. It was her intense hunger pangs which forced her to respond to Rolfe’s voice and eventually get up. “So cold,” she miserably uttered.

“I know. We’ll feel better when we get moving though,” John Rolfe replied, reviving the fire for Pocahontas’s sake so she would be more comfortable getting up. “This should help.”

As the flames grew, Pocahontas was able to rise more easily. They packed and set off again. The sky was unusually cloudless as the sun rose yet their hunger and misery blinded them to the natural beauty. It was a great mercy and relief that the temperatures rose to nearly sixty degrees by midday though they knew it was not to last beyond sunset. When the sun reached its peak in the sky, Pocahontas fell to her knees in the dry grass. “I can’t go any further without food.”

John Rolfe dropped his rucksack to the ground and rubbed his aching shoulders. “Alright. We’ll take a break. You hunt and I’ll forage. Maybe we’ll get lucky this time,” Rolfe replied.

Pocahontas nodded in agreement and put down her travel pack. Meeko ran off to forage on his own in the bushes. Pocahontas and Flit wandered off together with bow and quiver whereas Rolfe and Percy went another direction to avoid frightening any game animals Pocahontas might find. Rolfe and Percy had been wandering aimlessly through the forest for about five minutes before the Englishman froze in his tracks, spotting a bush with a few sparse blackberries. They looked a bit mushy, having been previously frozen, but Rolfe did not care. He hungrily gobbled them all up. When he was done, he gasped at his own selfishness. “Oh no, I forgot about Pocahontas. I should’ve saved some for her. What was I thinking?” he said aloud to himself.

Hearing no woof or whine in response, John Rolfe glanced around and wondered where Percy had run off to. He was about to call the pug’s name when suddenly he heard growling and high-pitched squeals coming from beyond some bushes. The perturbed Englishman pushed his way through the shrubs and gasped when he found Percy with his teeth embedded in the nape of a huge jackrabbit’s neck. The rabbit had to be at least twice Percy’s size and yet the pug held on for dear life. Rolfe lunged at the two of them just as the hare used its powerful legs to kick Percy off. The rabbit made a break for it just as the Brit descended, grabbing it by the skin of the neck and back simultaneously. Rolfe let out a wolf-like growl as he forcefully twisted its neck, making the vertebrae pop in an instant. The animal immediately fell limp.

John Rolfe pushed himself up from the ground and held the dead prey animal in bewilderment. He could not believe his own actions. He had ferociously killed an animal without even thinking about it, almost like it had come to him naturally. When Pocahontas had shown him how to dispatch the turtle, it had been just about the hardest thing he had ever tried to do. The revelation both fascinated and terrified him. Even Percy was staring at him wide-eyed and with a look of slight horror on his face. Rolfe was speechless as he met eyes with the pug. “I… I don’t know what came over me. I…” he uttered, dropping the dead jackrabbit to the ground.

Percy walked over and sniffed it. Then he looked up at Rolfe again and yipped happily. Despite his hunger pangs, Rolfe himself was still deeply troubled by his own actions. He feared he was turning into some manner of savage beast. The Englishman sighed. He reached down and picked up the dead rabbit by the ears, gazing at it with a big frown on his face. “Well you caught it, Percy. That means you and Pocahontas are going to enjoy lunch together. I… I don’t deserve any. Though I suppose once you and Pocahontas have had your fill, I might eat any leftovers if you don’t mind. Assuming Meeko doesn’t get them first,” Rolfe sadly remarked.

Percy raised a brow at John Rolfe, not understanding the Englishman’s upset. He started to whine. “I know, I know,” Rolfe replied. “You’re hungry. Come, let’s go back to where we left our things and build a fire. We can surprise Pocahontas with a meal when she gets back.”

…

John Rolfe and Percy returned to the hill upon which they had left the rucksacks. The diplomat immediately gathered up a pile of sticks and logs, building a fire pit. Then he turned his attention to the carcass. Slowly and carefully, he skinned the animal as he recalled Pocahontas telling him how to do it. He set the grayish brown fur aside in case Pocahontas wanted to keep it for tanning later. It was too bad she had lost her prized moose hide and Rolfe knew internally it was all his fault. The worst part of the process was gutting yet his hunger and misery seemed to desensitize him to the disgust. He saved the heart, liver, and tongue and laid the inedible entrails out to dry on a rock. Perhaps if they found a river or lake later, he could use them as fish bait.

“Alright. What’ll it be, Percy? Roast rabbit or rabbit stew? One bark for the first option, two for the second,” John Rolfe spoke once the carcass was clean and ready to go. He immediately got to work with his bow drill to start a fire in the fire pit he had built. Percy seemed to think for a moment and then finally he settled on two barks. “I agree. Stew would feel more substantial, wouldn’t it? Right then, I’ll get the pot,” Rolfe replied, reaching into his rucksack.

He pulled out the ceramic cooking pot and filled the bottom quarter with water from one of the skins. Then he cut the rabbit up into pieces and set them aside, placing the pot over the fire. He added sticks around the pot to make the water boil faster. Meanwhile Percy rose to his feet and started sniffing around. He wandered off to a spot about fifteen feet away from the fire, sniffed it, and started digging with his two front paws. Rolfe automatically assumed the pug had gone off to relieve himself but he was quite surprised when Percy returned with some small wild onions and carrots hanging out of his mouth. “Oh! Getting fancy, are we?” Rolfe remarked, taking the vegetables from him. He compliantly chopped them up and dropped them into the pot.

Again Percy wandered off. The next time he came back, he had a cluster of about ten small wild potatoes. John Rolfe laughed as he took them. “What an excellent nose you’ve got there, my friend. It seems you’ve endeavored to become the world’s first canine chef. Is that so, Percy? Very impressive,” Rolfe replied as he chopped up the taters and dropped them into the pot. Percy yipped excitedly as Rolfe reached a hand down and gave him a pat on the head. “Once this is ready, I’m going to have to send you off on a mission to find Pocahontas—but be careful not to scare any game animals she might be after. Think you can be quiet enough to do that?” Rolfe cleverly inquired. Percy dutifully nodded and started panting. “Good. Now sit tight. This shouldn’t take much longer than thirty minutes.” Once the water was boiling, Rolfe dropped in most of the pieces of rabbit. The jackrabbit had been too large to cook all of it in the stew so Rolfe began to roast the leftover pieces by the fire instead. Thirty minutes later, both the stew and roast rabbit pieces were done and a delicious scent wafted through the air. Rolfe sat upwind to avoid whetting his own appetite as he only intended to eat once Pocahontas and Percy had gotten their fills. Meeko returned from his foraging, having raided a poor squirrel’s winter supply of nuts. He was full already but was still interested in the stew. “No, no, Meeko! That’s for Pocahontas and Percy. Judging from your bulging waistline, I’m guessing you’ve already had your fill,” Rolfe remarked, poking the raccoon’s belly with a long stick.

Meeko did not look pleased about being excluded from the feast but John Rolfe ignored him. It seemed Pocahontas had wandered quite far in pursuit of game as it took her, Percy, and Flit thirty minutes to make it back to the campsite. By that time, the rabbit meat had become nicely tenderized in the stew. Rolfe added a little more water and stirred the pot, immediately noticing Pocahontas was empty-handed. She did not appear very happy. That all changed when she detected the scent of cooking meat. “John! You caught something? How?” Pocahontas lauded, hardly able to believe there was actually food present. Her stomach was screaming at her.

“No, Percy caught a huge jackrabbit and then he dug up a bunch of vegetables so you have him to thank for this meal,” John Rolfe explained, spooning the stew into two separate bowls. He placed a piece of the roast rabbit on top of the stew in each bowl and laid one on the ground for Percy, handing the other to a very hungry Pocahontas.

Pocahontas immediately put her bowl down and picked up Percy, giving him a kiss on the nose. “I didn’t know you had it in you, Percy! What a good boy,” she declared.

Percy yipped happily and licked Pocahontas’s face. Meanwhile, Meeko moved in to steal from Pocahontas’s bowl. John Rolfe saw him and shooed him off. “Go on, Meeko! You already ate, you greedy little pest!” he chided. Percy immediately started to growl and jumped down from Pocahontas’s arms, running after Meeko and barking. “Don’t bother, Percy. I’ll keep a watch while you eat so you won’t have to worry about any furry little thieves,” Rolfe said.

After chasing Meeko up a tree, Percy heard John Rolfe’s promise and lost interest. He shot the arboreal raccoon a dirty look and then strutted back to the campfire snobbishly, plopping down in front of his bowl to gorge himself. He ripped apart the roast rabbit leg on top and tore off the meat, chewing on the bones afterwards. When the bones were picked clean, he turned his attention to the stew. Meanwhile Pocahontas was laying waste to her own portion. She was soon out of stew so Rolfe refilled her bowl with the serving ladle. “Mm, it’s so good,” Pocahontas remarked as she savored every bite of meat and drop of rabbit broth. She had put away three bowls by the time something occurred to her. The Powhatan woman looking over to Rolfe who was not really doing anything. “John, aren’t you going to eat?” she inquired, glancing down at the pot. There was not much stew left and only one piece of roast rabbit.

Rolfe’s face flushed as he thought back to the berries. “I-I already ate,” he half-lied, laughing nervously. “I knew you’d be starved so I figured I’d only eat whatever leftovers there might be, if anything.” He narrowed his eyes at Meeko who was trying to sneak up in his peripheral vision and quickly slammed the lid down on the stew pot. “I think not, Meeko.”

Pocahontas looked surprised. “Well I’m full, John, so you should eat the rest.”

John Rolfe was still eyeing Meeko when he heard Pocahontas’s words. He flashed her a glance. “Very well,” he replied, taking a bowl for himself. There was only enough rabbit stew left to fill it halfway and he ate it quickly. He ate the last piece of roast rabbit as well. Though both warmed him on the inside, he ultimately found that they had only whetted his appetite without putting an end to it. He sighed and handed his dish over to Pocahontas for washing.

…

Over the course of the next three days, Pocahontas, John Rolfe, Meeko, and Percy were forced to survive on minimal food. They kept moving as fast as they could despite everything, both to keep warm and in hope of finding better hunting grounds. At last they arrived at another river one evening, hungry and weary. Rolfe worried that Pocahontas was weight as she looked unusually gaunt to him. They were fortunate to find a protected cave not far from the river to occupy. Exhausted from the day’s journey and from lack of food, the Englishman lethargically gathered his usual firewood together as he thought about their predicament.

Halfway through the day, Percy had become so exhausted that John Rolfe was forced to carry the poor pug in his mostly empty rucksack. Meeko was fairing a bit better only because he knew how to forage in times like these but, accustomed to the celebratory feasts of autumn and winter, he was no happier than the others. Pocahontas had gone off with her bow and quiver, followed by Flit as a hunting scout. As Rolfe returned with another load of firewood, he glanced down to Percy who was shivering by the fire pit. “Don’t worry, Percy,” Rolfe encouraged. “We’ve found a river. Animals always gather around rivers. I’m sure Pocahontas will catch something this time.” Percy only looked up at him and whimpered. Rolfe sighed and then scratched his bristled chin which he had been too tired even to shave. “I’ve got an idea!”

Percy perked up, raising a brow as John Rolfe dug into his rucksack which laid against the cold cavern wall. He took out a leftover piece of moose bone and used a sharp knife to start carving it into the shape of a hook. The task took about thirty minutes. When he was done, he poked a hole in the end opposite the hook and tied a line of strong twine through it. “Percy, I’m going fishing,” John Rolfe announced. “All I’ve got for bait is dried rabbit guts but it’s still worth a try!” Percy stood up and yipped, his mouth watering at the thought of a nice fish dinner. They had not had anything substantial to eat since the rabbit meal days ago.

John Rolfe retrieved his sack of rabbit guts and lumbered out of the cave. The river was both wide and deep in the section he came upon. He found an enormous tree with huge protruding roots that arched out over the water. It was a slow-moving section of river yet Rolfe could spot small sheets of ice floating by every now and again. To avoid getting wet, Rolfe climbed up on the largest overarching root. He plopped down right in the middle and took his mittens off, stuffing them down his neck to avoid losing them in the river. Percy had followed him and stood on the bank nearby, sniffing at the water. He looked up at the Englishman and whined slightly.

“I know there’s nothing there right now, Percy, but the water is deep. Give it some time,” John Rolfe replied as he took out the hook and rabbit guts. He used the hook to pierce a length of small intestine and then tied the opposite end of the twine around his own wrist, gently lowering the hook down into the water. It sunk until he could see neither it nor the bait anymore. He shot another glance at Percy. “Now we wait,” Rolfe said, flashing a hopeful smile to his canine companion. The Brit started to hum and swing his legs back and forth as he glanced around, admiring the autumnal scenery. The water looked frigid though and he was not particularly looking forward to crossing it. They would either have to spend a lot of time building a large raft to keep them out of the water entirely or they would have to strip down to minimal clothing and swim the river, only using a small raft to keep their clothes and supplies dry.

John Rolfe started fiddling with the ocarina that Siwili had given him, playing a few simple notes here and there. The music came across as carrying a sad or subdued tune. After a while, Rolfe got bored of staring downriver. He swung his legs over the wooden root to face in the opposite direction. Glancing upriver, he thought he spotted something peculiar floating slowly toward him. He squinted his eyes, making out what appeared to be a painted wooden mask of some kind. It struck his attention more than anything because it was a sign that human beings were about, depending upon how long the thing had been floating down the river. Maybe, he thought, he and Pocahontas would be wise to take their chances with another tribe seeing as they were bereft of food already. Home was only who knew how many miles away, after all.

John Rolfe hopped up to his feet as the mysterious item neared. It looked like it was going to float right past the end of the protruding root. He deftly walked down the length of it like one would a balancing beam and slid down to the frigid water’s edge, snatching up the mask just as it floated by. It was an odd-looking thing, covering most of the face from forehead to upper lip. Carved from some kind of hardwood, it was sculpted into the visage of a red fox. The shortened snout and ears were intricately carved and polished. Rolfe saw it as a work of art. He stood there admiring it until he heard Percy yip from the bank, wondering what the Brit had found.

Rolfe turned around and showed the item to the pug. “Look, I’ve found a mask. Isn’t it lovely?” he remarked, turning it over in his bare hands to examine the underside as well. “I can’t help but wonder who lost it. Maybe they’d like it back. What do you think, Percy?” he inquired, running his fingers over the rougher wood on the underside of the mask. The curious Englishman gradually raised it to his face, glancing out at Percy through the eye holes. The eyes flashed.

Suddenly the fishing line attached to John Rolfe’s wrist went taut. He was unceremoniously yanked into the deep ice-cold water with a yelp and a loud splash, disappearing beneath the surface. Percy’s face went from interest to horror in the span of milliseconds and he started barking at the top of his lungs. He approached the water’s edge and dipped in a toe. The action sent chills running all over his body for the water was far too cold.

When John Rolfe hit the water, it felt like hundreds of knives stabbing him all over. He could hardly move or breathe at first as his head was submerged. Then he began to thrash fiercely as he struggled to return to the surface. Something extremely strong was pulling him downriver at a much faster rate than he wanted to go. He had to get back to the cave and shed his wet clothes or he would freeze. As soon as he broke the surface, he cried out for help and thrashed like mad. The fish, whatever it was, was trying to pull him under again. He desperately tried to pull the twine off his wrist, only tightening it in the process. The Englishman coughed as he caught sight of a low-lying branch up ahead. He reached for it, desperate to catch a hold of it.

It only ended up scraping and bloodying his fingers as he caught the sharp twiggy parts and not the main branch. He could hear Percy barking up a storm and following him down the bank but he could not see the pug. At last, Rolfe caught hold of another oversized root from a large tree along the low muddy shore. The fish pulled hard yet it could not break his iron grip on the root. “Give up, you old chum!” the Englishman raged, using all of his strength.

The fish abruptly changed directions, momentarily freeing John Rolfe’s wrist so he could grab a hold of the root with both hands. He began to pull himself toward the bank just as Percy arrived there, barking and yipping at the top of his lungs. Once Rolfe was close enough, the pug waded into the freezing water and clamped his teeth down on the fishline to help the Englishman pull it in. Rolfe continued to pull with all his might, stumbling onto the muddy shore and crawling up the bank. Looking back, he could see something very long thrashing in the shallows as both he and Percy continued to pull the aquatic beast up the bank. Once the fish was all the way on land, Percy recognized it as a four-foot sturgeon—similar to the one Siwili had caught weeks back.

 

John Rolfe collapsed on the ground, struggling to remove the fishing line from his wrist. His hand had gone purple from lack of blood flow. “I n-n-need a kn-knife,” he chattered, going through his sopping wet pockets. Percy came over and sliced through the line with his teeth, freeing Rolfe’s hand. “Th-th-thank you, P-Percy. N-n-n-need to g-get w-w-warm.” Percy ran after the sturgeon as it tried to flop back into the river, biting its throat to kill it. Meanwhile the Englishman sluggishly pulled himself up from the cold muddy ground and stumbled off toward the cave. The wintry wind blew fiercely and snowflakes soon fluttered around his hunched over form. As Rolfe grew colder from the icy windchill, he found he could walk no longer and collapsed again. He trembled on the cold hard dirt beneath him, fighting to stay alive.


	22. Snow Angel

It was clear that a storm was coming in with heavy gray clouds on the horizon. Pocahontas could already see tiny sparse snowflakes fluttering around her. During that day’s hunting expedition, she had nearly gotten close enough to a family of wild boar to take a shot at the large male but something had frightened them away before she could even get in position. The wind soon picked up, disabling Flit’s flight capacity. Bad weather meant no more hunting for now. Pocahontas absolutely hated to go back empty-handed again. With the exception of Flit, everyone else’s physical condition was worsening by the day. If they did not find food soon, they would not be able to travel anymore and would have to pick a place to pass the winter. Maybe her mother’s spirit would lead her to a friendly village if they were lucky.

On the way back to the cave, Pocahontas and Flit had heard Percy’s distant barks over the wind. The panicked pug was howling loudly. Despite her lethargy, Pocahontas forced herself into a run to go see what the trouble was. The very last thing she expected to find was John Rolfe collapsed on the frigid ground near the river as the snow fell heavier and heavier. “JOHN!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, charging over to him. Percy was at the Englishman’s side, nudging Rolfe with his nose in an attempt to revive him. “Oh no! What happened? John, wake up!”

Pocahontas fell to her knees at John Rolfe’s side, shaking him. She quickly came to realize that he was soaking wet and chilled to the bone. How he had gotten to that condition, she could only venture to guess. She barely heard him groan as she shooed Percy aside, rolling Rolfe over onto his back. His pallid eyelids fluttered. “C-c-c-cold-d,” he stuttered, his teeth visibly chattering. Tremors ran through his body all over, sending a spike of fear through Pocahontas’s heart.

Just then an icy cold wind picked up, making her cheeks sting terribly. She could only imagine the effect it was having on John Rolfe and she rested her body over his to protect him from the worst of it. When it died down, more snowflakes fell from the heavens. The gray sky was quickly becoming a pall of white. “John, we have to get back to the cave right now. Get up!” Pocahontas commanded, pulling on his arm with all her might. He was shivering so badly that he struggled to push himself up from the ground, even with Pocahontas’s help. Once he was in a sitting position, she reached for a long fallen branch and held it up to him. “This should help you get to your feet. Hurry, a storm is coming!” she exclaimed.

John Rolfe took hold of the stick with his bare hands, his knuckles turning ice blue. Pocahontas came up behind him and buried her elbows beneath his underarms, using a wide stance to help him pull himself up to his feet. A fierce gust of wind nearly bowled them both over but Pocahontas kept a tight grip on Rolfe. “C-c-c-can’t feel my f-f-feet,” he uttered.

Pocahontas grabbed John Rolfe’s arm and draped it around her shoulders to help him support himself. “Now walk! Go on. One leg in front of the other,” Pocahontas called over the howling wind. Once again, it was not her mother’s spirit that she sensed but something much more sinister. She could not have been more grateful that Juanito was gone in that moment.

They slowly made progress toward the cave as the snow thickened again. Oversized flakes swirled around the pair. Percy had already run for the cave, unable to take the windchill any longer. It did not help that they were moving up an incline. Fortunately it was not steep at all but it still made it harder to get there. Once they had nearly reached the cave, a wintry gale hit them from the front and caused them both to lose their balance. They stumbled over. It almost felt like the wind was trying to stop them from reaching their destination. Pocahontas growled in determination and got up, grabbing Rolfe by both hands. She dragged him backwards into the cave where she found Meeko and Percy huddled together between the rucksacks, shivering.

They were not her primary concern. She pulled John Rolfe far enough into the cave where the wind could no longer reach and laid him down by the fire pit he had made earlier. He was still conscious but shivering uncontrollably. She immediately went to work attacking the buttons on his sopping coat, helping him maneuver his arms out of the armholes. His mittens were inside. Moving toward his feet, she untied and tugged his winter boots off. Freezing water poured out of them when she turned them over and flowed back toward the mouth of the cave. It was the snow pants the went next. Pocahontas untied the sash and yanked them off. Rolfe tried to sit up, trying to pull off his long-sleeve shirt. She helped him pull it over his head and then she attacked the undershirt, tugging it up to reveal his bare torso. He tossed it aside but placed a hand over his English belt before she could unbuckle it as well. “P-P-Poc-a-hontas, I h-h-haven’t got anymore c-c-clothes. I w-w-was wearing th-th-them all,” he expressed, not knowing what to do.

Pocahontas drew her brows together. “Well you’ll just have to wear nothing then,” she retorted, turning toward the rucksacks. She pulled Rolfe’s bedroll out of his travel pack and rolled it out beside him. Then she reached for his belt, trying to pull his hands out of the way.

John Rolfe’s face would have gone crimson if it was not already turning blue. “N-n-n-no, wait! I c-c-caught a f-fish. L-l-let me do this while y-y-y-y-you go g-get the f-f-f-fish. P-P-Percy knows wh-wh-where it is,” Rolfe revealed, struggling to shield his belt.

“John, this is no time for modest… Did you say fish?” Pocahontas replied, meeting his eye.

Though the pug was shivering, he jumped forward and yipped before pointing his nose toward the mouth of the cave. He panted a bit, getting hungry as he remembered the large fish. Percy yipped again twice, urging Pocahontas to follow him. “S-s-s-see?” Rolfe answered.

Pocahontas glanced at Percy and then narrowed her eyes at John Rolfe. “By the time I get back, I expect you to be in that bedroll and the only wet thing anywhere near you should be your hair and _only_ your hair,” she ordained, giving him an extended warning stare. She broke the gaze and turned around, following the pug. “Come on, Percy. Let’s hurry it up. A storm is starting!”

Flit flew out of Pocahontas’s hood, not wanting to go out there again since he would be of no use. He flew over to Rolfe to assess his situation, finding it not good. Once Percy and Pocahontas had disappeared, Rolfe checked to make extra sure they were gone and then he unbuckled his belt. Meeko and Flit watched him strip and then crawl into the bedroll, curling up to keep as warm as possible. Still he was shivering terribly. Meeko scurried over and clambered down into the bedroll too, causing Rolfe to yelp loudly in startlement. The raccoon curled himself around the Englishman’s frigid feet. “Oh, th-th-th-thank you, M-M-Meeko.”

…

When Pocahontas followed Flit out of the cave, she brought only her bow, quiver, and hunting knife with her as they had already been on her person. The wind had calmed down only slightly. She struggled through the snow drifts as she followed Percy downhill to the location of the fish. It was a whopper! No wonder poor John Rolfe had been pulled under by a brute that size, Pocahontas thought. Percy took hold of the fish’s line and yanked on it, finding the fish was too heavy for him to pull by himself. “Let me help you with that, Percy,” Pocahontas offered.

Suddenly she spotted something by the water’s edge. She curiously went over to investigate, discovering the same red fox mask that Rolfe had found. The Powhatan woman picked it up and raised a brow at it. She turned toward Percy and raised it to her face. “I wonder if John might like this. Maybe I should bring it back for him,” she called over the wind. The eyes flashed again and Percy whimpered, having a bad internal feeling that he could not define.

A big black bear snuffled nearby. This one appeared late for the hibernation party, looking for one last meal before bedding down for the winter. The beast wandered out of the brush into plain view, sniffing along the ground. It immediately set its eyes on the dispatched sturgeon. Percy let out a shrill yelp as the bear lunged in his direction, running to hide behind Pocahontas. The bear snatched up the sturgeon and turned to run off with the stolen meal.

Pocahontas was so surprised, she dropped the mask. She was having none of it. If they had not been so desperate for food, she might have let the beast get away with its theft. But as things were, she could not afford to let it go. “Percy, go back to the cave,” she ordained. The Powhatan woman nocked an arrow on her bow and ran after the fleeing bear. The beast was running fast but Pocahontas barreled through some dense shrubbery to cut it off. The first shot she took hit the animal in the backside. Pocahontas, shivering from both cold and adrenaline, had not aimed very well. When the arrow struck, the beast reared up on its hind legs and dropped the fish. It let loose a most ferocious roar as it turned its sights on the huntress responsible for its woe.

 _Uh oh,_ Pocahontas thought. She struggled to nock another arrow as the bear charged at her. The second arrow hit the bear in the right shoulder, causing it to stop momentarily and snarl in pain. The projectile had only made the animal angrier than it had been. It charged again, redoubling its speed. Pocahontas cried out. It was too close to nock another arrow. She unsheathed her hunting knife and with an angered war cry, lunged at the bear. Hopefully her feigned confidence would frighten it to run away. But it kept coming. Then came the clash. The animal tried to bear-hug her in a crushing embrace as she brought the knife down right past the collarbone.

Moments later, she found herself buried beneath the warm furry carcass with blood dripping in her face. The shock of victory did not last long for she quickly got an idea. She pushed the dead body off of her and rose to her feet, checking herself over for injuries. The bear had slashed a hole in the shoulder of her winter coat but had not reached her flesh. The only blood on the snow belonged to the bear. Pocahontas did not give herself much time to think before she grabbed hold of a paw and started dragging the bear back to the cave. It took her ten minutes and she was an icicle by the time she arrived. She found Rolfe huddled inside his bedroll, shaking violently. He did not seem sensible to the world beyond his own troubled state.

That changed as soon as Pocahontas draped the warm carcass over him. His eyes snapped open and he found himself staring into the lifeless eyes of a big black bear. The Englishman yelped loudly and tried to struggle, finding the task not to be too easy with the heavy carcass on top of him. “Relax, John,” Pocahontas told him. “The bear will warm you up.”

“B-b-b-b-b-bear? H-how d-d-d-d-did you…?”

Pocahontas shushed him. “A story for another time,” she replied, making her way over to the rucksacks. She shed her mittens and got out Rolfe’s bow drill, going to work at the fire pit to light a flame. It was not long before she got frustrated as her frozen fingers made the task harder. It took nearly ten minutes but eventually she succeeded, lighting a spark in some kindling. A frigid Percy helped her blow it to life as she added more material to the fire. Soon enough the blaze was burning bright. She thawed out her fingers and put her mittens on again. “I’ll be right back, John. I need to go get the fish,” she said, walking out the mouth of the cave.

The blizzard was almost in full swing when she left. She forced her way through the snow flurries back to where the bear had dropped the sturgeon. The fish was heavy as she hauled it up off the ground and swung it over her shoulder. She nearly lost her way on the journey back to the cave as the world had turned white, the snow obscuring her view of everything. Thankfully she noticed the black hole that made up the cave entrance and stumbled into it, bending low to avoid hitting her head. She dropped the fish by the fire pit and took the rain cover out of her rucksack. “I’m s-s-starting to f-feel warmer,” Rolfe mumbled, sounding sleepy. His stuttering was not as bad as before which was a good sign. “S-so tired…”

“Don’t go to sleep yet, John,” Pocahontas told him. “You need to eat something first. I’m afraid you won’t wake up if you don’t.” She returned to the mouth of the cave and covered up the entrance with the rain cover, tying the ends to protruding rocks on the outside. The cave immediately became far less drafty, improving everybody’s comfort. Yet the wind picked up terribly, beating against the makeshift door with all its might. Still the hide stayed in place and provided them protection from the worst ferocity of the storm.

Pocahontas returned to Rolfe’s side and retrieved her bloody hunting knife from its lodging under the bear’s collarbone. She also plucked out the arrows and tossed all three items over to the fire, positioning the bear so that it was covering Rolfe’s right side. His left side was kept warm by the blazing fire. Then she reached into his bedroll, an act which Rolfe fervently protested. “Wh-what are y-you doing?!” he cried, severely embarrassed.

“Give me your hands,” Pocahontas instructed. He did so and she took them in her own hands, thinking they still felt cold. “Can you feel all your fingers and toes?” she inquired.

John Rolfe nodded. “I c-can now. M-Meeko decided to be my f-foot warmer.” Just then Meeko poked his head out of the bedroll and looked up at Pocahontas. “I admit I f-feel a little weird having him in here w-with me but it’s better than losing my t-toes, I guess,” he replied, scratching Meeko on the head. The raccoon cooed and went back to his foot warming duties.

“Good boy, Meeko,” Pocahontas praised him. Observing John Rolfe, she noticed he was still getting chills. She could only guess it was because his head was cold and wet. She pulled his hair strap out and tried wringing out his hair. Not much moisture was left. She warmed up a beaver skin blanket by the fire and wrapped it around his head like a turban.

“L-land sakes, that feels good,” John Rolfe remarked as the comforting heat enveloped his skull.

Pocahontas smiled. “I’m going to make dinner. I want you to stay awake until after you’ve eaten,” she instructed. John Rolfe nodded reluctantly. She got to work cleaning the oversized sturgeon that Rolfe had caught. Then she started a fish stew over the fire. While it was cooking, she wrung out and hung up all of Rolfe’s wet clothing by the fire. She had to add more sticks to the fire to make it bigger and hotter to dry everything out. Fortunately Rolfe had collected a large pile of firewood in the cave before he had ever even thought to go fishing.

Pocahontas set the remainder of the sturgeon aside for smoking, getting an idea. She started to build another fire pit on John Rolfe’s other side. When it was ready, she transferred a flame from the first fire pit to the second. Rolfe glanced over with a look of curiosity on his face. “What are you doing?” he inquired. “Why two fires?” His stomach started to growl when the scent of the fish stew wafted through the air. Even Meeko poked his head out of the bedroll once more.

The wind howled mercilessly outside, the mere sound of it making John Rolfe shiver once more. “We have a lot of meat that needs smoking,” Pocahontas revealed. “I might even have to start a third fire. I don’t think I’ll be getting much sleep tonight.”

John Rolfe frowned. “I’m s-sorry, Pocahontas. This is all my fault. If I hadn’t been foolish enough to get pulled into the water, I’d be able to help you with all this and…” he began before Pocahontas noisily hushed him. She started to warm another blanket by the fire and then she exchanged it with the one already wrapped around his head which had cooled off.

“You don’t need to be angry at yourself, John. It is thanks to you that we have all this meat,” Pocahontas told him, caressing his forehead. She leaned down and gave him a kiss.

Rolfe raised a brow. “But you’re the one who caught the bear, not me.”

“It was the smell of the fish that attracted the bear in the first place,” Pocahontas returned. “Besides, we’ll need to stay here at least another day to smoke all of this meat so I will be able to sleep in. There is a lot for me to do but as long as there is food, I will have the energy to do it. Don’t worry about me. Starvation was my main concern and now my mind is at ease.”

John Rolfe slowly nodded. Once the stew was ready, Pocahontas, Rolfe, Meeko, and Percy consumed every last drop of it. Because everyone was so hungry, Pocahontas had to make another fish stew. Fortunately there was plenty of sturgeon to do that with. By the time the second stew had been consumed, they were all full and satisfied. Rolfe drifted off to sleep, warmed on both sides by the two fires and the bear carcass.

Pocahontas had many tasks at hand. She turned his clothes around so they would dry on the other side. Then she deboned all the sturgeon meat and dried the bones by the first fire. Using a blanket, ropes, and stalactite columns, she set the fish up to smoke over the second fire. She dragged the bear off of Rolfe once he was warm enough and pushed it over onto its back to clean the carcass. It was an enormous task for one person but she took her time with the skinning and gutting, saving the edible organs including the tongue. She set the others aside in the back of the cave for possible later use. Next she turned Rolfe’s clothes inside out to dry on the inside. Then she cut all of the muscle off of the bones and started a third fire, using the bear skin, ropes, and stalactite columns to set up a smoking station for the bear meat.

By the time she was done, it was past dawn. She went to check on John Rolfe, finding that he suffered from fever. It was not too terribly high yet, likely thanks to the rejuvenating meal he had received. She removed the blanket wrapped around his skull and placed it beneath his head instead as a pillow. Then she moistened his handkerchief and put it on his forehead, lying down to sleep beside him as the meat smoked on the fires that surrounded them.

John Rolfe stirred at about noon. It was his groans of discomfort from the fever that roused Pocahontas, despite her exhaustion. She propped herself up on an elbow and reached for the handkerchief on his forehead. It was as warm as he was. Pocahontas removed the blanket from his head and took the handkerchief to the mouth of the cave. She reached past the barrier she had set up, moistening the handkerchief with cold snow. When she returned, she put it back on his forehead to his immediate protestations. “No! Cold! Too cold!” he cried in a gravelly voice.

“You’re too hot, John,” Pocahontas returned. “I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable but I have to try to cool you down.” She tried to touch him with the handkerchief again but he hid his head under the covers. Pocahontas placed her hands sternly on her hips. “Don’t make me dump snow on your bedroll. I will. I will dump snow on your bedroll, John,” she warned.

“No! Why are you so mean?” John Rolfe protested.

Pocahontas rolled her eyes and went to revive the fires from the previous night to allow the meat to finish smoking. When she was done, she took all the fish bones and started grinding them up into bone meal. “Time to eat,” she announced. “Bear stew it is going to be.” She got to work on making the stew, cutting up pieces of smoked bear meat and dropping them into the cooking pot. Meeko and Percy looked immediately very interested.

“I’m not hungry,” Rolfe rasped from under the blankets. “And my head hurts.”

Pocahontas got up to check on the state of John Rolfe’s clothing. His trousers, knickers, and socks were dry as a bone but the thicker items were still a bit moist. Rolfe’s boots in particular were moist on the inside so she hung them upside down over the first fire to dry out better. She took his dry items and dropped them on top of his bedroll, making him grunt. “Some of your clothes are dry, John. You can get partially dressed if you want.”

“Too cold to get out of bed,” Rolfe groaned miserably. Their animal companions were in much higher spirits. A hungry Percy was avidly chewing on one of the raw bear bones nearby whereas Meeko was hanging out by the stew pot, watching and waiting for it to boil. Flit buzzed over to the mouth of the cave to get a peek at what was beyond the rain cover. It turned out to be a wall of snow. They were going to have to dig themselves out.

Pocahontas sighed as she tossed some of the powdered fish bones into the stew for calcium. “You’ll be a little warmer if you put your pants and socks on, John.” John Rolfe groaned again and threw the blankets off his head. He tried to sit up, only to find he was too shaky from illness to achieve much of anything as far as getting dressed or even standing. Pocahontas rethought her previous proposal. “Never mind, John. You’re too sick to get up. Lie down,” she told him. He all but collapsed in response to her instruction. She took the clothes on his bedroll, folded them, and set them aside for later. Then she sat by him and took his head in her hands, massaging it.

“Mm, that’s helping,” John Rolfe uttered, rolling onto his side. “Thank you, Pocahontas.” She ran her hands through his hair which was fortunately dry by now and rubbed his temples in circles. Then she reached over to her rucksack and pulled out a skin of water.

“You sound dehydrated, John. I want you to drink something,” Pocahontas instructed, bringing the opening to his lips. He reluctantly complied, drinking about half of the skin in total. When the stew was done and tender an hour or two later, she made him consume half a bowl before letting him go back to sleep. She had to spoon-feed it to him because his hands were too shaky to hold either the bowl or the spoon. By sundown, all the meat was done smoking. At that point, Pocahontas took the bear skin and fleshed the inside so she could tan it later. The task took her a couple hours but once she finished, she laid the skin fur side down over Rolfe’s bedroll.

John Rolfe seemed pleased with the warmth at first though Pocahontas had to take it off a few hours later when his fever spiked. Despite his protestations, she dabbed him all over the face, chest, and shoulders with his cold wet handkerchief and she kept doing it until the fever finally broke an hour before sunrise. Despite the breaking of the fever, he was still feeling sick and shaky so Pocahontas thought it would be wise to delay their travels another day. She caught up on her own sleep and then in the afternoon she dug her way out of the cave. The snow had to be at least three or four feet high but that began to change when freezing rain started, packing the snow down and turning it to slush. Fortunately Pocahontas had managed to gather more dead wood directly from the trees before that happened, enough to keep the fire going. The second and third fire pits had been abandoned as they were no longer needed.

Pocahontas watched from the mouth of the cave at night after the rain stopped. The sky had cleared up and the moon highlighted the white landscape. It was so cold and the windchill was so intense that Pocahontas noticed the slushy ground starting to turn into solid ice. The frozen ground gave her an idea. The ice would presumably not melt for a while. Carrying all the bear and fish meat on their backs would be impractical because there was so much. Once Rolfe was better, she would help him build another sled like the one he built in the mountains to carry all the extra supplies. She had even checked the river which had frozen over entirely as well. Crossing would be much more practical now if not a bit hazardous. They would just have to be extra careful not to break through the ice. When the sun dawned clear and bright, Pocahontas ventured out of the cave despite the windchill and used her machete to harvest several green wood saplings that could be used in the making of a sled.

She returned to the cave with the wood and dropped it in a pile outside the entrance. Then she went inside where John Rolfe, Meeko, Percy, and Flit were all still asleep. Her first task was to make breakfast. She roasted bear meat over the fire. The delightful sizzling scent roused the others. Rolfe woke up feeling a thousand times better than in the two previous days. However he quickly came to realize that he was still naked. “Um… Pocahontas? I think I’d like to get dressed now,” he announced, enticed by the scent of breakfast. Pocahontas tossed the rest of his clothes to him and positioned herself by the fire such that she was facing away from him. “Right,” Rolfe replied. “Uh, don’t turn around.” He clambered his way out of the bedroll, shivering in the cold of the cave, and grabbed his knickers. It took him a few minutes to get dressed such that he was wearing every scrap of clothing once more, completely bundled up like he had been before the fish incident. He walked over to the fire and plopped down at Pocahontas’s side.

After eating a delicious breakfast together, Pocahontas told him about her idea to build a sled. She brought some of the branches inside. John Rolfe took two long ones and stripped them of their bark. He also used a blade and hammering stone to cut off wood and flatten them on each side, making a pair of runners. Pocahontas boiled water over the fire to make it easier to curve the ends upward using the hot steam. Rolfe left the bark on the foot boards to make better footing and prevent slippage. He used a blade to carve mortise holes for the stanchions that would hold up the cargo basket. They carved depressions in the wood and used bark and twine to lash the whole thing together. To make a strong, quality sled took half the day. Finally they ventured out of the cave, all packed up and ready to go. The bear skin was stretched and firmly tied fur side down over all their belongings. Pocahontas pushed the sled from behind using the handlebar and John Rolfe pulled it from the front with a rope harness tied to his torso to make the task easier.

When they neared the frozen riverbank, they made a mutual discovery that had them both very curious. The red fox mask laid frozen a few inches below the surface of the ice. John Rolfe used a stone to smash the ice and pull it out. Pocahontas took one look at the mask and said, “I get a bad feeling about this thing. Can we maybe just leave it here?”

John Rolfe immediately frowned. “But it’s a work of art. Why would you want to leave it?”

“Because I said so,” Pocahontas retorted, narrowing her eyes at him. She took the mask from him and tossed it aside. It slid on the ice and stopped when it bumped against the trunk of a tree.

Rolfe whined but he did not want to argue. Pocahontas did not seem to be in much of an argumentative mood either. They continued on their way. Meanwhile Meeko was lagging behind and caught sight of the mask. It was an immediate source of fascination to him. Wanting to keep it for his tree hole back in the Enchanted Glade, he ran after the others and stuffed it under the bear skin when nobody was paying attention. Pocahontas and John Rolfe were focused on crossing the river. They were careful to go as slow as possible to avoid breaking the ice.

At one point when they were roughly in the middle of the river, they heard a crack and everyone froze in an instant. Rolfe proposed crawling on hands and knees to spread out the pressure on the ice. They did so and made it across in one piece. The whipping winds made their faces chapped. Pocahontas showed Rolfe how to put bear grease on his face to protect it from the weather. Beside the winds, the weather was mostly mild for the rest of the day and they managed to travel a great distance. The next day the wind was mild and there was a beautiful snowfall that Pocahontas and Rolfe both greatly enjoyed. Once the ground was coated with snow again, it was easier to travel. Whenever they were heading downhill in a fairly treeless area, they mounted the sled and slid down as opposed to expending the energy to walk down one footstep at a time.

…

The day after that was warm and saw to the melting of much of the snow, creating a watery slush. The slush was harder to move through but they still managed it. Everything changed on the evening of the next day following. Another terrible snowstorm blew up and Pocahontas, John Rolfe, Meeko, Percy, and Flit were unable to find a suitable cave. They had to settle for a large hollow at the bottom of a massive tree which did not provide ample space for a fire. Fortunately there was a pile of dry autumn leaves which provided a buffer from the cold hard ground. They were forced to eat cold smoked bear meat and huddle together for warmth the whole night. It was a somewhat miserable experience but they survived to travel onward the next morning.

The fresh powder made pulling the sled along much easier but the sky was still heavily clouded the following day, leaving Pocahontas and John Rolfe worried that they might get caught in another storm. Their predictions came true that late afternoon when some fierce winds blew up, forcing them to stop and look for shelter. The first place they found was a wide-mouthed cave at the bottom of a cliff overlooking a ravine. Only a small frozen stream ran nearby. They could see the tiny fish swimming around beneath the ice. The size of the cave was fortunate because they were able to pull the whole sled inside rather than just crawl in themselves.

The first thing John Rolfe did was build a fire pit. He had fortunately been insightful enough to have brought firewood on the sled since he knew it would be difficult and dangerous to find some in an emergency situation like a snowstorm. That meant he was able to build a fire and thaw some of the frozen bear meat for them to eat. As before, Pocahontas stretched the rain cover over the broad entrance. It was not large enough to cover the whole mouth of the cave but it prevented the majority of the wintry winds from penetrating the interior to pester them.

Pocahontas was making bear and fish bone stew over the fire when John Rolfe thought he heard something over the whistling winds outside. It initially sounded like a whinny, causing the Englishman to jump to his feat. Pocahontas glanced up at him, not having heard the noise over the crackling of the fire. “John, what is it?” she inquired worriedly.

“I thought I heard a horse,” Rolfe replied, pausing. “You don’t think it could be…?”

Pocahontas raised a brow. “You’re probably just hearing things in the wind. I don’t want you to go out there, John,” she expressed, reaching up and tugging on his arm to get him to sit back down. “The storm is too fierce. You nearly froze to death once already.”

John Rolfe took hold of her hand and bent down to kiss it. Then he patted the top of it. “Don’t worry, love. I’ll just go have a peek. If it is Juanito, I’d worry that he’d freeze out there all by himself. Like I’ve said before, he’s not exactly of sound mind. What kind of logical person would leave a group to travel by themselves in this type of weather anyway?” Pocahontas still look worried as John Rolfe wandered over to the mouth of the cave and untied one corner of the rain cover to glance out into the white world beyond. The snow was so thick in the air, one could hardly see inches in front of one’s face. But John Rolfe heard the noise again, louder this time. “HELLO?” he called out into the storm though his voice was quickly lost to the gale. He glanced back at Pocahontas. “I’ll be right back,” he said with a look of determination.

Pocahontas was having none of it. She jumped to her feet and grabbed a hold of the back of his waist sash as he tried to crawl out of the cave, pulling him back in. He stumbled and landed on his rear end in the autumn leaves that had collected inside. “Oh no, you don’t! John, you can’t see a thing out there. Even if it is Juanito, he deserves to freeze for what he did.”

John Rolfe frowned and pushed himself to his feet, dusting himself off. “Maybe _he_ does but poor Ciceron most certainly does not!” he protested. “Come on, Pocahontas. I’ll be careful. I swear to you that I heard a horse’s whinny! The animal sounded distressed. Surely you wouldn’t ignore a cry for help, Pocahontas. Even if it is only a horse,” he retorted.

Pocahontas still did not look entirely convinced that he had heard anything at all. But she could see that he would not be dissuaded from venturing outside of the cave. She sighed and trod over to the sled, shuffling through their belongings. John Rolfe watched in curious silence until she returned with a long rope and started to tie it around his waist. “This is so you won’t get lost in that pall. And if you collapse, hopefully I’ll be able to pull you back in. You have one minute to find whatever it is your looking for. Understand?” she replied in an authoritative tone.

“Fine,” John Rolfe replied. He nudged his way past Pocahontas as she held onto the rope and crawled out of the shelter into the white beyond. As he moved further away from the shelter, she gave the rope more slack and counted down from sixty in her head. Eventually she reached the end of the rope and the end of the sixty second countdown. She started yanking on the rope to let Rolfe know it was time to turn back. But he resisted. She pulled harder to let him know that staying out there was not an option. He struggled against her pulling until suddenly the rope went slack. She pulled it all the way back to realize that John Rolfe was no longer attached to it.

A jolt of fear struck Pocahontas’s heart. She poked her head out of the shelter and called out, “John Rolfe! John Rolfe, get back here!” Hearing no response, she started to panic. She tied one end of the rope around her own waist and the other end onto a protruding stone at the edge of the cave’s mouth. Taking a deep breath, she ventured out into the blizzard herself. She held her hand in front of her face as the ice-cold wind made her cheeks sting terribly despite the protective layer of bear grease. It was hard to breathe let alone call John Rolfe’s name. She wandered further and further from the cave, groping around. Just when she was about to lose hope entirely, a mitten-covered hand grabbed a hold of her own. “John!” she cried, both angrily and in relief. She took him firmly by the wrist and lead the way back to the cave, pushing the whipping rain cover aside to allow them entrance. But Rolfe stopped at the mouth of the cave and untied another corner of the rain cover, pulling it aside and exposing the interior of the cave to the harsh blizzard. Pocahontas shielded her face from the storm. “John Rolfe, what do you think you’re doing? Are you crazy? You…” she scolded, cracking an eye open in time to see a snow-white mare enter the cave beside her snow-covered paramour.

The beautiful horse ducked low to get past the mouth and then wandered inside, shaking the snow off of her thick winter coat. She was wearing both saddle and bridle but there was no sign of a rider anywhere. Pocahontas was stunned. Meanwhile John Rolfe grabbed a hold of the thrashing rain cover and tied the corners back in place which required more than a little effort. It effectively blocked out the abuse from the storm. He nearly collapsed in a pile of autumn leaves a moment later, panting to catch his breath. _“Yikes, I thought I was going to die out there.”_

It took Pocahontas all of ten seconds to get over her shock at the sight of the mare before she turned on John Rolfe with a dangerous look in her eye. “John, I swear if you ever, ever, _ever_ do anything like that again, I’ll…” she began, distracted when Meeko poked his head out of the same pile of autumn leaves that Rolfe was sitting on. He ran through Pocahontas’s legs, nearly causing her to lose her balance, and wandered up to the horse. As the mare lowered her head to munch on some autumn leaves, the raccoon curiously poked at her big nostrils and caused her to sneeze all over him. The sound rattled the cave and caused Rolfe to let out a few chuckles. Pocahontas was anything but amused. She stomped over to Rolfe and grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet. “JOHN, WHAT IN THE WORLD WERE YOU THINKING?” she raged.

John Rolfe shrunk away, gritting his teeth at the shrill sound of her voice. He had never seen her so angry at him before and hoped to never see her so angry at him ever again. His face flushed. “P-Pocahontas… I’m sorry! It’s just that I knew there was a horse there and I’d run out of slack and you wouldn’t stop yanking and…” he tried to explain in a mouse-like voice. Percy whined nearby and cowered behind the sled, relieved Pocahontas’s rage was not directed at him. Even Meeko frowned and hid behind the horse’s front leg, thrilled not to be in Rolfe’s shoes.

“You risked your life for a horse! A _horse_ , John! She’s a beautiful horse but she’s still just a horse! You could’ve died if we hadn’t run into each other! What were you thinking? No seriously, what insanity was going through your head that possessed you to untie the rope around your waist? Huh? Answer me!” Pocahontas charged, backing him up against the cave wall.

John Rolfe could do nothing but stare back at her with wide, terrified eyes. He had no answer for her and he knew it. She knew it too. For intuitive reasons he could not explain, he had somehow felt confident that he could make it back to the cave without the rope. Of course, Pocahontas would accept no excuse—especially not such a weak excuse—so he did not even try to offer one. His face turned even redder as the awkward silence grew between them. Finally he could stand it no longer. He began weakly, “Pocahontas, I’m sorry but… c-can we continue this conversation after I’ve tended to the horse? She needs help and…”

“NO!” Pocahontas roared, grabbing him by the wrist again. She tugged him over to the fire and pushed him down to sit by it. “I’ll tend to the horse. You can just sit there and think until you have an answer for me. Don’t you dare get up!” She turned on a heel and headed over to the mare, using angry jerking motions as she unstrapped the horse’s saddle and yanked it off. She took off the mare’s bridle and saddle blanket as well, brushed the snow off her coat and raked together a nice bed of autumn leaves for her like she had seen Rolfe do for Ciceron. The mare was very appreciative as she laid down on the bed of leaves, eating some in the process. The Powhatan woman gave her a nice pat on the nose and returning to the fire in silence.

John Rolfe sat by the fireside nervously the whole time, watching her. He was shaking slightly and nearly jumped a foot in the air when Meeko came over and placed a sympathetic paw on his knee. He could not even muster a small comforting smile for the raccoon to let Meeko know he was alright. The Englishman had not been shouted at in that manner since he was a small child. His usual response then was to cry to show his mother just how sorry he was but he could not very well do that now. He was a grown man and he did not want to imagine how Pocahontas would respond if he broke down in tears just because she had yelled at him.

John Rolfe sat in nervous silence, keeping his eyes downcast, as Pocahontas served the stew that had been cooking over the flames. They ate quietly and then went to bed without speaking a word to each other. In the morning, Rolfe was just as nervous as he had been the night before if not more so. He had dreamt of nothing but the greatest follies of his childhood all night long and all the trouble he had gotten into for them. They were not pleasant memories and Rolfe just tried to shake them off the next morning as opposed to dwelling on them.

Pocahontas never asked for an explanation for his actions again—which was a great relief to Rolfe despite the fact that he had spent the entire evening and morning trying to think up a decent excuse should he be asked. He went over to tend to the mare while Pocahontas was making breakfast, using an oversized pinecone to brush her fur. _“Now I wonder what your name is,”_ he whispered so that Pocahontas would not be able to hear. He had almost gotten the sense that he was forbidden from speaking after the dreaded mistake he had made.

The mare poked her nose toward the saddle and John Rolfe went over to investigate it. ‘Snow Angel’ was the name indicated on the front of the seat of the saddle. What a perfect name, Rolfe thought. He returned to Snow Angel’s side, telling her by telepathy what a pretty name she had. “Breakfast is ready,” Pocahontas announced, nearly causing Rolfe to jump ten feet in the air.

He returned to the fire and ate some of the fish stew Pocahontas had prepared. When they were done eating, they packed up and took the sled and Snow Angel outside. Rolfe’s face turned red and he avoided eye contact when the time finally came that he had to speak. “Um, so, I th-thought it might be a good idea for Snow Angel to pull the sled and I’ll ride on her back while you, Meeko, Percy, and Flit ride on the sled. Does that sound good to you, Pocahontas?”

“Snow Angel?” Pocahontas repeated.

“Mhmm, that’s the mare’s name. It says so on her saddle,” John Rolfe quickly replied.

Pocahontas smiled slightly, not that Rolfe saw it. “Snow Angel is a lovely name for her.” John Rolfe tied the sled to Snow Angel’s saddle straps using a series of ropes. He was about to mount her when he felt a hand on his waist sash, preventing him from climbing up. Glancing back nervously, he found Pocahontas was looking up at him with an unreadable expression. “John,” she said. “You know the only reason I yelled at you yesterday is because I love you. If I hadn’t shouted after that foolish thing you did, it would’ve meant that I didn’t care.”

John Rolfe blinked in surprise. He raised a brow. “Oh? Y-yes, I know. Forget it about it, love.”

She pulled him in for an embrace and kissed him on the cheek. “Let’s get going.”

…

It was three more days of alternatively sunny and cloudy weather before Pocahontas, John Rolfe, and the others began running low on food again. Rolfe estimated that they had three days’ worth left if they conserved. Pocahontas began to grind the bones of the bear, stretching out their food supply another day or two with bone meal. Yet still she began looking for new game animals as they traveled each day. There were no more signs of bear as they had all gone into hibernation for the winter. Pocahontas and Rolfe spotted the occasional deer tracks but the animals always ran at the sound of Snow Angel’s hoof clops. At one point they came upon another frozen river. Rolfe used a big rock to smash his way through the ice. He used his bone hook and a piece of dried sturgeon guts as bait to go fishing in the river. However this time he caught nothing but two fish only big enough for one person each. It was a modest meal but they wanted to conserve the smoked meat as much as possible. Four days after that, the food was gone entirely.

Despite Pocahontas’s hunting attempts, she had no success. Once again, they were forced to go three whole days without food which severely wore the group down. The only ones who did not go hungry were Flit and Snow Angel as there was still plenty of wild honey and dried winter vegetation around. Their hunger only slowed them down a little since the mare was doing most of the work of traveling. Still they were getting desperate. Things were made at least ten times worse when on the third day of their hunger, another terrible blizzard blew up. It had come on quite suddenly such that the white snow flurries acted as an impediment to finding shelter.

Pocahontas, John Rolfe, and the others wandered through the blizzard for nearly half an hour. They were on the verge of collapse when the snow let up just enough that John Rolfe could spot puffs of smoke over the trees. _“Fire?”_ he uttered through severely chapped lips.

“John, I can’t go on!” Pocahontas called to him from the sled over the wind. Snow Angel was exhausted and beginning to stumble through the thick powder.

John Rolfe glanced back, squinting his eyes against the wind. He saw Pocahontas fall off the back of the sled, collapsing in the snow. The Englishman signaled the horse to stop and he climbed down, wading through the snow until he got back to her. With an immense effort, he lifted her up and carried her to the horse. He hefted her up onto Snow Angel’s back and took the reigns, leading them through the snow on foot. The snow thickened again. Rolfe kept heading straight in the direction he had seen the smoke. They walked over a frozen tributary with Snow Angel nearly slipping on the ice. Rolfe went to her far side to help support her against the wind, nearly falling over himself. They made it across the tributary and found their way into the shelter of dense trees again which only shielded them from some of the wind. The snow was still falling thick, making it difficult to see anything in front of their faces.

Still John Rolfe lead the way onward. After nearly a hundred paces, he collided with something that stood in his way and fell back on his rear end into the snow. Pocahontas saw this and she dismounted the horse to help him. When she looked up, the flurries of snow drifted aside just enough for her to set eyes on what Rolfe had run into. The sight nearly stole the breath from her lungs and she stared, wide-eyed. “John!” she cried. “I… I recognize that totem pole!”


	23. Homecoming

****“Aunt Oppusquinuske, open up!” Pocahontas shouted as she banged on the longhouse door. “It’s me, Pocahontas! Aunt, please let us in!” Her voice was lost to the ferocious storm winds but she hoped her fist’s impact on the door could be heard from the interior. John Rolfe stood beside Snow Angel, holding onto her reins in the deepening snow. It was up to his knees already and getting higher. A few seconds later, the door swung open to reveal the toasty interior.

Pocahontas’s welcomer was hardly able to see her as snow drifted in and obscured the view. The Powhatan princess pushed her way past the doorframe, causing a small avalanche of snow to spill into the large room. The first thing Pocahontas saw was the children seated around the fire. She came over and shooed them away from the left side of the hearth to make room for Snow Angel. “I need you to move, sweetie. Yes, you too. Hurry, it’s cold out there!” she announced.

Once the children were out of the way, Pocahontas returned to the doorway and reached outside to grab hold of John Rolfe’s hand, pulling him inside. The Englishman practically collapsed the moment he got past the barrier of snow, letting go of Snow Angel’s reins. Pocahontas took hold of them and beckoned the shy mare forward as an exhausted Rolfe crawled out of the way. There were a few squeals of fright as the enormous animal entered the longhouse. Some of the young children tried to hide while the adults present were taken aback at the sight.

Once Snow Angel was all the way inside, Pocahontas untied the ropes binding her to the sled which was already halfway buried in the snow. Against the wind and blinding snow, she made her way over to the cargo again and pulled back the bear skin. Meeko, Percy, and Flit were all three huddled together, shivering terribly. Pocahontas took Flit and stuffed him gently down the neck of her coat. Then she picked Meeko up in one arm and Percy in the other and turned tail, pushing her way past the doorframe again. Once they were all inside the longhouse, two men got to work brushing the spilled snow aside so that the door could be closed again.

“Who are you?” came a familiar female voice from across the fire as soon as the door was shut. The dialect was one of Western Powhatan, also known as Appomattough. Though most Powhatan speakers needed a translator, Pocahontas had spent part of her childhood in this village and therefore knew the language well enough. Chieftess Oppusquinuske stood up curiously from her raised seat, trying to get a better view of the strangers.

Placing Meeko and Percy down on their feet, Pocahontas undid some buttons on the front of her coat and then pulled back her hood. She shook the icicles out of her hair and took a deep breath like she had been deprived of oxygen for a while, her lungs relieved from pain by the warm air inside the longhouse. “It’s me, Aunt Oppusquinuske—Pocahontas. Thank you so much for letting us in! We nearly died out there,” she replied, unbuttoning the coat. Flit buzzed out of the opening and flew around the room, getting a good look at everyone present.

Meeko and Percy began thawing their frozen fur coats by the fire. Meanwhile a bundled John Rolfe rose to his feet and brushed the snow off of the white mare’s back. He removed her saddle and bridle, stuffing them under one of the benches, before signaling her to lie down by the fire. Once Snow Angel was resting on the floor, the children’s fear eased since she no longer towered over them in such a terrifying manner. While none of them dared approach her, they did watch the horse with fascination in their eyes. The chieftess gasped, hardly taking notice of the mare as her eyes widened in shock at the sight of her beloved niece. She bolted over to Pocahontas and quickly began examining the young princess for injuries. “Oh, my dear Pocahontas, we were lead to believe the worst! What happened to you? Your poor father, does he know you’re alive yet? Where have you been?” she exclaimed, taking one of Pocahontas’s hands in hers.

Whispers of curiosity and amazement could be heard around the room. Oppusquinuske shot a glance at some of the whispering women on the benches near her throne. “Don’t just sit there! Get up and help my niece remove her overclothes! Mind you, this is Powhatan’s dearest daughter,” she chided. They snapped to attention and hopped up as the chieftess turned to one of her own daughters. “Winona,” she spoke, addressing the girl on the floor to the right of the hearth, “serve them some of the venison stew.” She returned her gaze to Pocahontas as the women helped her remove her winter clothes. “My dear, you must be starved. If I’d known you were coming, I would’ve at least prepared a modest feast.”

“We are starved!” Pocahontas confirmed. “It has been three days since we last had anything to eat at all. You have no idea what we’ve been through, Aunt. Believe me, it’s a really long story!” she expressed, lifting one of her feet as the women helped her out of her snow boots and pants. She felt much relieved to be free of them after being wrapped up so long.

The women prepared sitting mats and cushions in front of the central fire, closest to the throne. Pocahontas and the chieftess sat down on them. The Powhatan princess continued to chat with her aunt as John Rolfe finished tending to the horse. When he was done, he finally unbuttoned his coat and pulled down the hood. _“Psst, Pocahontas,”_ he whispered, bashful about interrupting the conversation. The poor exhausted mare needed something to eat though.

“White man!” one young warrior announced in Appomattough, pointing straight at Rolfe.

Every eye in the room turned on John Rolfe and then the whisperings began. Rolfe’s face went from white to red in an instant and he crept behind Snow Angel, suddenly very self-conscious of his own presence in a room of people completely unlike himself. _“Did I do something wrong?”_ he whispered to Pocahontas. _“Please, tell them I meant no offense.”_

“You’re fine, John,” Pocahontas replied aloud. She turned to address everyone in the room, her aunt in particular, switching back to the local tongue. “His name is John Rolfe. He has been traveling with me. After we have eaten, I would be pleased to tell you all the story.” She glanced back at Rolfe again, patting the cushion on her left side. “Take off your snow clothes and sit.”

Pocahontas’s young cousin Winona filled four bowls with stew. She handed one to Pocahontas and placed the second by Rolfe’s cushion. The third and fourth went to Meeko and Percy. Both animals began hungrily gobbling up their portions. “Pocahontas, ask them to get Snow Angel something to eat and drink. Perhaps she might like corn? It’s worth a try,” Rolfe spoke, removing his coat. He kicked his boots off and yanked down the snow pants, kicking them off.

Pocahontas returned her attention to Oppusquinuske. “We need some dried corn in a basket and a pot of water for the large animal,” she expressed. “Her name is Snow Angel and she has carried us very far to get here. She is just as exhausted as we are if not more so.”

Oppusquinuske nodded and signaled one of the warriors in the back, nearest the corner food supply. Meanwhile John Rolfe crawled down into his seat beside Pocahontas and began to inhale the bowl of stew at a speed to rival Meeko’s abilities. Pocahontas did the same. The attentions of all men, women, and children in the longhouse were torn between Rolfe and Snow Angel throughout the entire meal. Once both humans and animals were fed and watered, the children gathered around Pocahontas as she began her tale—starting with their time in London.

John Rolfe, not understanding a word, started to teeter in place as his exhaustion caught up with him. Pocahontas’s ten-year-old cousin Keegsquaw briefly interrupted the story when she raised a hand and pointed at Rolfe. “Cousin Amonute, that man looks like he wants to take a nap.” Meeko, Percy, and Flit were already fast asleep themselves. Meeko and Flit had curled up in a basket on a high shelf whereas Percy had passed out in front of the fire.

Pocahontas smiled lightly, reminded of her childhood in the village by Keegsquaw’s use of her birth name. She glanced to the side and noticed Rolfe was lurching. One of his eyes was closed and the other was only cracked halfway open. Pocahontas turned her attention to the women. “Prepare him a bed, please.” No sooner had she spoken the words than they went to work putting together a pile of skins and furs on one of the benches that lined the longhouse. Pocahontas placed her hand on Rolfe’s knee, causing him to wake up and jump in startlement. “John,” she said, pointing him in the direction of the fleshly-made bed. “Go to sleep.”

John Rolfe pushed himself sluggishly to his feet and all but collapsed on the furs and skins that had been laid out for him. One of the women laid a blanket over him and Pocahontas returned to her storytelling task. By the time she was done, it was late evening and her audience sat in stunned silence. “That is all most extraordinary,” Oppusquinuske finally spoke. “So you will be able to reestablish peace with the settlers near Werowocomoco? The last news we heard from the great chief was that tensions had risen quite suddenly. It has had us all very worried.”

“They have?” Pocahontas inquired. “What has happened?”

A middle-aged warrior raised his hand. “Great Oppusquinuske, may I speak?”

The chieftess nodded and turned to Pocahontas. “Nootau, our greatest warrior, was in Werowocomoco not but a few days ago. He spoke to your father directly. Therefore he can tell you more than I,” she explained as the warrior came forward.

Nootau cleared his throat, preparing to recount his knowledge both to Pocahontas and the rest of the room. “What the great chief told me is that the white settlers in the village known as Jamestown put minimal effort this year into growing crops. They claim that they were expecting a boat to arrive with extra supplies in the fall. That boat—the one you may have been on, Pocahontas—never arrived. As a result, the palefaces beseeched our chief to trade corn for various other goods so the settlement could survive the winter. On account of the drought this year, Powhatan was forced to refuse lest our own people go hungry. The palefaces then threatened our chief—” he explained, soon cut off by Pocahontas’s loud gasp.

“Whoa, whoa! Back up, Nootau. Did you say ‘drought’?” Pocahontas replied, her face full of shock. “I had meant to inquire upon the state of this year’s harvest.”

All the faces in the room turned woeful. “I’m afraid this was a bad harvest year, Pocahontas,” spoke the chieftess. “We grew nowhere near the excesses of previous years. Indeed we suffered a very dry summer. If we conserve, we should have enough to see us through. You did not miss much this fall. There were no major harvest celebrations, very little dancing and singing. I worry now that our survival depends upon the white men not carrying out their threat to rob us.”

Pocahontas frowned. “They’ve never done that before.”

Nootau raised a finger again and Oppusquinuske signaled him to speak. “Chief Powhatan and the elders of Werowocomoco approached the whites during the spring planting. He advised them to follow the Powhatan example and begin their planting early. But they were lazy. They made excuses. The troubles they have now are no one’s fault but theirs. And now it seems they intend to make our people suffer for their mistakes. We cannot afford to give them corn this year, we simply don’t have enough. If you can find a way to solve this problem, Pocahontas, then may the Great Spirit be your guide and benefactor. You might just save us all.”

“I will do absolutely everything I can,” Pocahontas said though she sighed, shooting a glance at John Rolfe lying on the bed. Only his hair and right hand were visible. Oppusquinuske placed a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “This is very troubling indeed. After all John and I have been through, the very last thing we were hoping for was trouble brewing at home.”

Meeko and Flit woke up, starting to feel a chill from being too far away from the fire. The raccoon climbed down from the high shelf, spotting John Rolfe asleep on a bed. He cooed happily and jumped on the bed, burrowing his way beneath the blankets to the left of Rolfe’s body. Flit darted down to make a nest out of the Englishman’s tousled hair. The youngest children in the room all saw this and started yawning. “It is the children’s bedtime,” the chieftess announced. Several of the adults rose to their feet and got to work putting the kids to bed.

Pocahontas yawned as well, covering her mouth. “I’m pretty tired myself.” She heard a whinnying snore to her far left and discovered Snow Angel snoozing away too.

Oppusquinuske took a gentle hold of Pocahontas’s wrist. “Before you retire, my dear, I need to speak with you in private. Briefly, if I may.” Pocahontas nodded and rose to her feet along with her aunt. The chieftess dismissed the small crowd and they began to disperse, moving along to their own rooms further down the longhouse. Oppusquinuske lead the Powhatan princess over to her throne. She sat down and signaled Pocahontas to sit beside her, the seat being ample enough for at least three grown women. The chieftess was silent for a moment before she cast a glance in the sleeping Englishman’s direction. Her eyes flashed with something Pocahontas could not place when their gazes met again and she seemed hesitant to begin the talk.

“What is it, Aunt Oppusquinuske? Is everything alright?” Pocahontas inquired, rubbing her eyes.

Oppusquinuske hesitated a moment longer before a look of resolve fell over her wise, aged features. _“Tell me, Pocahontas,”_ she whispered, leaning toward her niece. _“Did you indeed tell the whole story in front of the others? I don’t mean to sound suspicious, and forgive me if I’m wrong, but I am curious as to the nature of your relationship with the white man you brought.”_

Pocahontas’s face flushed red the moment she was reminded of just how perceptive her aunt was. It was one of the things that had made her a great weroansqua as she had an intuitive sense about people’s intentions. She had once avoided an enemy ambush under the facade of a friendly diplomatic meeting because she sensed something in the foreign chief’s face that indicated latent aggression. When the attack came, her own warriors were prepared. They killed the enemies and took the double-crosser hostage, effectively annexing his tribe into the Powhatan confederation. Pocahontas returned a nervous smile. _“How did you figure it out?”_ she whispered back.

 _“Pocahontas, what are you thinking?! You are the great chief’s virgin daughter and yet you think it wise to take a white man as your lover? Or any man, for that matter! You will shame your poor father. He has been through enough, thinking you were dead!”_ Oppusquinuske chided.

Pocahontas’s eyes widened. _“What? Lover? Oh no, Aunt! No, no, no, you’ve got me all wrong. John Rolfe is the man I intend to marry. He would never dishonor a woman out of wedlock. I swear on the spirit of my mother, he has not laid a finger on me.”_

Surprise flashed across the chieftess’s face before she slapped a hand to her chest, a look of immense relief falling over her. _“Oh, thank the spirits. Child, you had me so worried with the secrecy of it all. If you intend to marry him, why did you not announce it to the others? He does love you, does he not? You told us how he repeatedly risked his life for you.”_

 _“Of course he does! But you mustn’t tell anyone,”_ Pocahontas urged. _“We did not announce it because we do not have Father’s permission yet to wed. I worry how Father would feel about me marrying someone other than a great warrior. John thinks we should wait. He wants to give Father time to get to know him first before dumping such startling news upon him.”_ Suddenly Pocahontas gasped as something occurred to her. _“You don’t think… anyone else figured it out as I was telling the story of our travels, do you? Rumors are the last thing we need.”_

Oppusquinuske shook her head. _“No, I don’t think anyone else has a clue. You seem to have given them the impression that he is no more than friend and bodyguard to you,”_ she expressed. She brought a hand to her chin, thinking a moment. _“You know normally I would not condone withholding such information from your father for any amount of time… but your John has a point. Knowing the great chief—and knowing myself were I in his position—it would be better if you don’t drop this on him before peace with the settlers has been reestablished.”_

Pocahontas smiled. _“So you’ll keep our secret?”_ she inquired.

The chieftess nodded. _“Yes. But I certainly do hope you will have told him by spring at the latest. If he consents, I expect to receive an invitation to the wedding forthwith.”_

Pocahontas leaned in and embraced her aunt who readily returned the affection. _“Thank you so much, Aunt Oppusquinuske. I will fight for peace with the settlers as if I was fighting for life itself. Neither John nor I will rest until all is well again.”_

When they drew back, the chieftess brushed a knuckle over Pocahontas’s chin. _“I know you’ve heard this a million times, my dear, but you are so much like Nonoma. I miss her terribly. She was my dearest sister while we were growing up,”_ she expressed nostalgically.

Pocahontas smiled. _“I know. I miss her too. But she was with me through my travels. If her spirit had abandoned us, we never would have made it back here.”_

“I have no doubt. Now I must talk to the elders,” Oppusquinuske replied, speaking in a normal voice again. She gestured to the benches where an unoccupied bed laid. It was directly across the room from John Rolfe’s bed. “The women have made up a place for you. Sleep well. We shall discuss future plans first thing in the morning,” she finished as Pocahontas rose to her feet.

Pocahontas nodded, covering another yawn. She scooped a snoozing Percy up from his spot beside the fire and wandered over to her bed, flopping down on her back in the soft furs. With the pug curled up on her chest, she pulled the beaver skin blanket over them and drifted off to sleep quickly—dreaming of what the future might hold.

…

Having fallen asleep much earlier, John Rolfe naturally woke up before Pocahontas. Some of the natives were still in bed when he arose whereas others were awake, preparing breakfast among other things. He yawned and tried to sit up in bed, only to discover that Meeko was curled up under the blankets with him. The moment Rolfe moved, the raccoon roused and poked his head out of the covers. “Good morning, Meeko,” Rolfe greeted in a sleepy voice. When he tried to run his fingers through his messy hair, Flit flew out of it and glanced around. The hummingbird then darted over to Pocahontas’s bed and chirped, trying to rouse her. “Flit, let her sleep. I’m sure she’s exhausted,” Rolfe spoke, sitting up in bed. He squeezed his eyes shut as he stretched and when he opened them again, he noticed several pairs of eyes looking at him.

Three women and two young girls sat around the fire gazing at John Rolfe, four of whom he vaguely recognized from the previous night. They had been preparing the morning meal before Rolfe reminded them of his presence. They stared at Rolfe and he stared back at them awkwardly for a few moments until the youngest girl broke the silence. “Wingapi,” she uttered.

John Rolfe raised a brow. The word sounded like Pocahontas’s Powhatan greeting ‘Wingapo,’ albeit pronounced differently. “Wingapi?” he repeated. The girl grabbed a plate and placed a roasted turkey leg on it along with a couple corn fritters. She hopped up and ran over to Rolfe, offering him the plate. He glanced down at the food on the ceramic dish and then accepted it.

“Hun ootanemuscande qwagoarepoest?” the girl inquired.

It sounded like a question but John Rolfe did not comprehend any of the words. Fortunately Pocahontas had taught him the translation for ‘I do not understand.’ “Mattaquenatorath,” he replied, looking more than a little nervous. Rolfe felt awkward and started to wish Pocahontas was awake so she could act as translator. Still, he did not want to disturb her.

The girl gave him a questioning look and then patted his knee. “Winsouse,” she concluded. She pointed at him. “John Ralfe,” she said. Then she pointed at herself. “Keegsquaw.”

“Keegsquaw?” Rolfe repeated, understanding that to be her name.

Keegsquaw nodded fervently and then turned, gesturing to the slightly older girl who looked much like her. Rolfe could only assume they were sisters. “Winona,” she said. Then she named the three women as well, pointing to each in turn. “Kanti, Odina, Hurit.”

“Winona, Kanti, Odina, Hurit,” Rolfe repeated, gazing at each female as he spoke her name.

Keegsquaw giggled. “Winsouse! Egenatorath oobun,” she blurted before hustling back to the fire. She plopped down beside her sister Winona and started stuffing her face with corn fritters.

As John Rolfe sat there and ate, he got to truly observe his surroundings for the first time. He had simply been too exhausted and distracted to do so the night before. The interior of the longhouse was impressively large. Rolfe judged that the peak of the arched ceiling had to be at least twenty feet high with a round smoke hole over the central hearth that spanned about two to three feet in diameter. The architecture was supported with one-foot diameter poles reaching to the ceiling.

The frame of the domicile was built of long saplings that were lashed together with young tree bark. Large squares and rectangles of thick birchbark covered the walls in layered shingles which Rolfe assumed acted as insulation for the interior. Benches lined the walls, all covered with reed mats, skins, and furs for comfort. They were built like bunk beds with another layer overhead which looked strong enough to support sleeping human beings. A diagonal notched tree trunk created a narrow stairway leading up to the top bunks. Currently they were being used to store various items including skins, furs, firewood, food, pots, and baskets.

The most striking thing about the longhouse was the leader’s throne. It consisted of a bench raised higher than the others at the far end of the room, draped with skins that served as paint canvases for a series of interesting but simplistic pictograms. Rolfe recognized the central shape as the sun. It was surrounded by a blue sky which rose high over the green and brown earth and all the trees and plants that grew thereupon. There were other skins draped along various walls, including one behind Rolfe, which presented anthropomorphic shapes in the designs.

In contrast, the floor of the longhouse was nothing special. It was just plain flat dirt over which mats and cushions were placed for sitting. As John Rolfe’s eyes scanned the floor, something appeared to be missing. Suddenly he heard a whinny from outside and he jumped to his feet just as the door creaked open. More sunlight flooded into the room as an elder woman he recognized from the night before stepped in. She was impressively dressed in dyed skins and a heavy black bear fur cloak. It was fur-side in and the inner skin faced outward, painted with symbols. She wore the skin from the bear’s head and face as a separate hood, decorated with long brown feathers, which she removed the moment she entered the warm space. A copper crown sat on her head underneath. Rolfe knew as soon as he saw her that she had to be the queen of the village, if not several villages. His face flushed a bit as he was unsure of how to properly address her.

Once she had removed her cloak and draped it over an arm rest on her throne, she turned to him and smiled. She looked young for an elder, with minimal wrinkles and polished white teeth. Pronounced cheekbones set high on her face gave her a regal air though her dark brown eyes were warm and welcoming just like Pocahontas’s. John Rolfe’s anxieties about meeting her vanished in an instant when she greeted him in a casual tone. “Wingapi, John Ralfe.”

His plate empty, Rolfe set it aside and bowed to her. “Wingapi,” he returned.

John Rolfe could have sworn he saw an amused smirk on her face as she wandered over to one of the shelves which held her personal items. A few moments later, he was presented with a hairbrush similar to the one from the Gunalo village. The handle was intricately carved and painted on this one however, which made sense given that it obviously belonged to royalty. Rolfe’s face flushed when he realized the state of his hair. He smiled his appreciation and quickly began brushing it out, tying it back with his usual hair strap when he was done. The Englishman pulled the hair out of the brush and returned the item to its owner.

When the queen joined the women at the fire, John Rolfe tiptoed over to the door and cracked it open to peek outside. The warriors had apparently risen early to shovel all the paths in the village. Some were still at work but the walkway from the longhouse was clear enough. Rolfe was about to step outside when he realized he had no shoes on. He found his boots and snow pants beneath his bunk and put them on. Stepping outside, he whistled for Snow Angel who came right over and greeted him with a small bundle of snow-laced hay in her mouth. “Hello, lovely girl. Would you like to go explore a bit this morning? We could pass some time since Pocahontas is still sleeping,” he proposed, stroking and nuzzling her soft white nose. Meeko climbed down from a nearby tree and hopped onto Snow Angel’s back, looking excited at the prospect of going for a ride. Flit buzzed over too and landed on Rolfe’s shoulder.

Snow Angel bobbed her head, looking excited. Without another moment’s hesitation, John Rolfe swung his leg over her rear and mounted her bareback. He held onto her mane in place of reins and bumped her in the side to let her know he was ready to go. She trotted swiftly along the path the warriors had dug away from the longhouse. Once they hit untouched powder, she had to walk slowly in order to get through it. Still Rolfe and the others enjoyed the sight of an untouched snowy forest in the daylight. The icicles glistened in the sun like a thousand jewels. They were out all of thirty minutes before they returned to find Pocahontas running around frantically looking for Rolfe. The moment she spotted him, she ran over. “John! Don’t disappear like that. You scared me,” she chided, giving Snow Angel a pat on the side.

John Rolfe hopped down and patted the horse too. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to tell anyone where I was going,” he replied. “We just went for a walk in the forest, is all.”

Pocahontas took him by the hand. “Come back inside. We need to talk,” she expressed, pulling him toward the longhouse. Meeko and Flit followed them whereas Snow Angel wandered off to entertain herself outdoors, her preferred hangout. Rolfe followed Pocahontas through the door and over to the fire where some sitting mats had been set up. All the breakfast food was done cooking and it sat on plates in front of them. The Powhatan princess plopped down on a cushion and patted the one next to her. “Have you eaten yet, John?” she inquired.

“Yes, but I wouldn’t mind eating more. I’m still pretty hungry,” Rolfe replied, taking some corn fritters and a piece of turkey breast for himself. He did not start eating yet because he had a load of questions that he wanted to ask. “Pocahontas, where are we exactly? Are we in a Powhatan village? I haven’t seen your father yet so I assume we aren’t in Werowocomoco.”

Pocahontas smiled as she put some items on her plate. “We’re in Mattica. It belongs to the Appomattough tribe, also known as the Bear Clan. They speak a language very similar to Powhatan called Appomattough. Father also sometimes calls it Western Powhatan. Mattica is my mother’s hometown. She grew up here with her many brothers and sisters. The current chieftess is her younger sister and my maternal aunt, Oppusquinuske.”

Rolfe raised a brow. “Is there a chief?”

“There was,” Pocahontas replied. “My aunt Oppusquinuske had a late husband, Powwaw. He died ten years ago, the same year my mother passed away. It was my mother and father’s marriage that united this village with the Powhatan confederacy decades ago.” She flushed slightly as she flashed a glance down at the floor. “By the way, Aunt Oppusquinuske sort of figured out that you and I want to get married. She’s very perceptive but she has promised not to tell anyone, so the secret is safe. I just thought I should let you know.”

John Rolfe’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really? How could she have figured it out?”

Pocahontas shrugged. “There must’ve been something in my eyes or body language when I spoke of you that gave it away. But no one else suspects a thing.”

“Thank goodness! So how far away are Werowocomoco and Jamestown exactly?”

Pocahontas thought for a minute. “Given the height of the snow it would probably take two to four days to get there with Snow Angel. It is just difficult for any animal to get through such tall snow drifts but the sled dogs here have very large paws. They can pull our sled and pack down the snow. Then it will be easier for Snow Angel to follow behind us. We need to discuss this idea with my aunt though. She will probably insist that we bring a band of warriors with us as bodyguards to please my father. Speaking of my father, I learned last night that there is trouble brewing in Jamestown. The settlers did not grow enough food for the winter because they expected our ship to arrive in time to supply them. My people are not much better off because there was a drought this year. Crop yields were much lower than usual. Because of that, we can’t afford to trade with the settlers or else we’ll go hungry and now the settlers are threatening to steal food from Werowocomoco and other villages at gunpoint,” she revealed.

John Rolfe was immediately taken aback at the news. He drew his brows together in anger. “I will stop them! We need to leave immediately,” he said, looking around. “Where’s your aunt?”

Pocahontas spoke to one of the women in the local tongue. The woman rushed off and came back a few minutes later with the chieftess. “I’ve told him,” Pocahontas said to her aunt in Appomattough. “John thinks we should leave immediately. What do you think, Aunt?”

Oppusquinuske came over and sat down with them. They ate breakfast as they discussed the day’s plans, finally settling on sending two dog sleds with warriors along with them as guards—one in front and one in back. They would travel to a Chickahominy village and spend the night there. The chieftess estimated it would take two whole days of traveling if weather conditions remained good. Pocahontas acted as translator throughout the conversation. Once they were done talking and eating, Oppusquinuske gave orders for the sleds and dogs to be prepared. There were five warriors coming with them overall, two on each extra sled and one to drive theirs.

Pocahontas and John Rolfe used the sled that they had built together, packing up extra food supplies and warm skins. The fur from the bear that Pocahontas had killed was frozen solid so she took it off and handed it over to the women in the longhouse to defrost, saying she would send for it in the spring. Rolfe, Pocahontas, Meeko, Percy, and Flit sat with the cargo, watching the scenery pass by. Snow Angel was tethered to the last sled. Fortunately she had no trouble keeping up once the snow was packed down for her. The whole day was beautiful, bright, and balmy and they arrived in the village of Hominy by the evening.

Hominy was only about half the size of Mattica but equally hospitable. Rolfe was able to understand more of the words there from what was spoken. The chief was a stocky man a few inches shorter than but twice the girth of John Rolfe. He held a small feast for them in his longhouse. After dinner, they were taken to separate huts to stay for the night. John Rolfe and Percy passed the night with one family and Pocahontas, Meeko, and Flit passed the night with another. With numerous skins draped over her back for warmth, Snow Angel stayed outside and found a rocky overhang with a pile of dry leaves underneath. She made that her nest for the night. Everyone was woken up to eat breakfast at the crack of dawn and then they quickly set off for Werowocomoco as the sun rose on the eastern horizon.

…

The first half of the day was cold but clear. It was not until just after noon that some heavy clouds rolled in. Pocahontas began to fear that it might start raining but in fact there were only light snow flurries at first. The wind started sometime in the early evening, becoming more intense as the sun reached toward the western horizon. The warriors had to stop the sleds to bundle up their faces as the biting wind began to chap their skin and lips. Though John Rolfe and Pocahontas were bundled up with the cargo, they started to shiver as well as the extreme cold penetrated even their warm clothing. When night fell the snow came down heavily, the flakes whipping painfully against their faces. It made it hard to see where they were going. The lead warrior driving the front sled came to a stop, forcing the others to do the same.

“I get the feeling this is going to be a very harsh winter!” Pocahontas shouted over the wind.

The Englishman nodded fervently. “And I thought English winters were bad!”

The lead warrior Pajacock came to Pocahontas and John Rolfe’s sled, shouting over the wind in Appomattough. “Pocahontas, we can’t continue until the snow lets up! Even the dogs can’t see where they’re going! We’re going to let the dogs loose and set up a shelter!” he cried. Pocahontas was about to reply just when the snow thinned out and the winds eased slightly. The warrior stood up straight and looked around. “On second thought, we’re almost there. If it gets too bad again, we’ll have to stop. But we just might make it,” he finished, returning to his sled.

The dogs were off again, fighting their way through the blizzard and drifts. After five or so minutes, John Rolfe craned his neck backwards to see if Snow Angel was alright. She appeared to be doing fine as she trotted along behind them. Some time later the winds picked up again, blowing westward. “John!” Pocahontas cried, gaining his attention. She pointed at something sticking out of the snow as it came up on their right, obscured by the snow flurries. “That’s a totem pole! We’re entering Werowocomoco right now!” she excitedly exclaimed.

John Rolfe was greatly relieved. He did not know how much more of the wind and snow he could take. The Englishman began to count the seconds until they reached the great chief’s longhouse. At the same time, a deep anxiety welled up within him that he was powerless to explain. It was difficult to tell where they were with nothing but moonlight as their guide but when they neared the grand building, the front outside walls came into view. Pocahontas struggled to untie the ropes binding them to the cargo hold as all the sleds came to a stop.

“I’m home!” Pocahontas cried. She looked back at Rolfe. “ _We’re_ home! Come, let’s go in!”

Their driver helped them climb out of the cargo hold. Pocahontas held Meeko and Flit and John Rolfe held Percy as they fought through the snow drifts to reach the front door, pounding on it for admittance. Several seconds later, the door opened up to reveal the warm interior with many pairs of eyes glancing at them from around the central hearth. It was the far end of her father’s longhouse. They would have to walk to the other end to reach Powhatan’s personal dwelling.

Pocahontas, John Rolfe, and their driver unintentionally tracked snow in when they entered. The first thing Pocahontas did when she got inside was put Meeko down and throw off her hood. “Mattachanna!” she cried. The elder woman, who occupied the room with her many children, gasped and brought her hands to her mouth. She was speechless as she gazed at Pocahontas in disbelief. The woman shook her head, trying to process what she was seeing.

 _“Pocahontas?”_ Mattachanna finally whispered, pulling her hands away.

Pocahontas embraced her. “Yes, it’s me! I’m home! I can’t believe I’m finally home! Oh, you won’t believe what we’ve been through. Where is Father?” The door opened again as the remaining warriors came inside. Pocahontas turned to them and asked them to bring Snow Angel to the small stable she had had built for her own horse, giving directions. All five Appomattough warriors nodded, going back outside to carry out her orders and take care of the dogs as well.

As soon as John Rolfe removed his hood, Mattachanna squealed and pointed directly at him. “It’s one of them! Pocahontas, behind you! They attacked us earlier today and stole corn! Uttamatomakkin!” she screamed, calling her husband. He rushed in from the adjacent room, the tall dark warrior that both Pocahontas and John Rolfe immediately recognized.

John Rolfe’s visage brightened the moment they set eyes on each other. Uttamatomakkin looked shocked to say the least. “Ute!” Rolfe greeted. “Long time, no see. I can’t believe you beat us back to Virginia. Well we ran into a few impediments along the way, you might say.”

Pocahontas gasped, hardly even noting Uttamatomakkin’s presence. “The Jamestown settlers attacked? We were in Mother’s hometown and heard there was trouble brewing here! Is anyone hurt? I must see Father right away!” she returned in Powhatan, addressing her sister. Ute waved to John Rolfe in semi-friendly manner and Mattachanna looked at him confusedly. Pocahontas glanced back and spotted Rolfe as well. She turned back to her sister, realization dawning. “Oh, don’t worry about him! He is not a threat. In fact, he is here to help us,” she explained.

“Pocahontas, is this a family member of yours?” John Rolfe inquired.

Mattachanna knew enough English to understand so she replied in Pocahontas’s place. “I am her eldest sister. Who are you…? You look vaguely familiar.”

The Englishman took a bow. “John Rolfe, madam. I was the fellow who came to take Pocahontas to London. I’m pleased to inform you and your people that our meeting with the king was a great success and we’ve returned to establish peace. We would’ve been here much sooner but I’m afraid our ship was attacked. Pocahontas and I were the only survivors.”

Mattachanna’s mouth hung open at the shocking revelation until one of her young children spoke to her in Powhatan, asking a question. She turned back to the girl. “Go get Grandpa, Pules. Hurry! Your aunt Pocahontas has returned!” she said to her daughter. Pules jumped up excitedly and ran off in the opposite direction, disappearing through the door into the adjacent room.

It was less than a minute before the chief appeared, looking like he might swoon at the sight of his lost child. “Father, I’m back!” the Powhatan princess exclaimed, running over to him. Chief Powhatan uttered not a single word before he scooped her up into a bear-like embrace, looking like he would never let go again. The expression on his face was one of deep and overflowing emotion. “Father, I can’t breathe,” Pocahontas croaked. “Need air!”


End file.
